Blonde Adventures, Part 4 The Graphic Designer
Peter de Ruthyn
There was a bulge in the front of his blue swimsuit with the white and black stripes. The suit went well with his white-framed sunglasses. The bulge went well with the rest of the boy. A slim body, perhaps a trifle gangly, but shaved smooth and lightly tanned. Blonde hair coming to a little peak above his forehead. An attractive curve to the outside of his soles as he strolled along the shoreline.
He moved his towel closer to mine as we lay on the grass. "I think you're really cute," he said. He hesitated as he spoke, not so much from shyness, but more from an awareness of his own boldness and the very public nature of our flirtation. As if to counteract that involuntary hesitation, he leaned over and kissed me.
Gradually I slid closer to him, until we were both lying on the same towel. Our legs intertwined and our speedos touched gently. I let my tongue explore his mouth and he did not object. In fact, he returned the gesture for a little while before we separated, with him laughing from excitement and self-consciousness. I smiled back, inviting him, encouraging him.
We folded up our towels and put our clothes back on. For me, only a pair of shorts. For him, a shirt as well. Leather straps came between our naked feet and the grass. Picking up our bags, we strolled back toward the parking lot.
"I can help you with your bike if you like," he offered.
"Thanks." I turned and crossed the street, where my transportation was sitting chained to a rack outside the swim shop. I had just finished unlocking it when he pulled up to the curb in his sage-green convertible. Together, we wedged my bicycle into the rear seat. I climbed in and he drove off up the hill.
We kept stealing glances at each other, but didn't talk much. Eventually I decided to tease him a bit more. I kicked off my flip flops and untied the drawstring on my boardshorts, then pushed them down my legs. He had to force himself to pay attention to the road after that, after seeing me sitting there nearly naked in a convertible with the top down, my tan beach body on display for all to see.
"Would you like to go somewhere?" he asked, looking over at me again with something unmistakable in his eyes.
"Somewhere different?" I asked. He was supposed to be taking me home. "Did you have a place in mind?"
"Yeah, I think so," he said.
"Good, I'd like that." He took another look in my direction, then let his free hand drift over and rest on the front of my speedo.
The car kept climbing the hills, twisting back and forth along the hairpin roads that led up to their summits. The houses thinned out somewhat, but not a lot. Then they came to an end, along with the road, on the edge of the forest. He started to climb out of the car, then paused.
"Are you sure you don't want to put something on?"
"No, just these," I said, slipping my feet back into my flip flops. "I'm good. Are you sure you don't want to take something off?"
He hesitated, but excitement won out in the end, and he took his shirt off again and tossed it onto his seat.
We strolled off into the woods. The trees weren't very thick, and there were paths carpeted with pine needles leading off in several directions. I let him lead the way. In a minute or two we came across a little covered picnic area, a concrete slab with a couple of picnic tables and a roof over it, the sort of thing the Forest Service puts up for hikers.
He turned to face me, and we kissed again. He was very good at it. While his lips were busy on mine, and his hands were massaging my backside through the spandex of my swimsuit, I was untying the string on his shorts and pushing him back out of them. Already he was long and stiff beneath the yielding material of his own suit. I bent and licked his bulge, then, curious, pulled his speedo off as well and began tonguing the erection that sprang out. It was slender, but nicely curved, and I could feel and taste his eagerness through it. Not a single hair spoiled its lines, or prevented him from experiencing the full impact of my licks and nibbles.
I stood up and rubbed my own bulge against his, letting him see the effect he was having on me. He spun me around, grinding his shaft into the ample curves of my backside, concealed only by a few square inches of stretched and distorted fabric, which he soon got rid of. I stepped out of the discarded suit and my sandals at the same time, leaving myself completely naked for him to enjoy. And he did enjoy it, from the way he was leaking juices onto the small of my back, the way his hands caressed my body, the way his kisses burned on my neck.
I led him a few steps over to the picnic table and had him sit down on it, legs spread and propped up on the seat, so I could have better access to his boyhood. It slid into my mouth so easily. I loved taking a clean, smooth boy in my mouth, and I showed him my appreciation, making him murmur with delight as I treated him alternately like a lollipop and a candy cane.
I stepped back for a moment to catch my breath and admire the effects of my work on his shiny, slightly pinker shaft. I took advantage of the opportunity to pull his sandals off as well, so he would be just as naked as I was. And it would make it easier for him to try the next thing I had in mind.
This involved my lying down next to him on top of the table and sucking him back into me. He was in a position to return the favor now, and he did without waiting for a cue. Side by side, we worked each other over. The wood was a trifle uncomfortable, and I suspected that I would be picking flakes of green paint off myself later, but the feel of his stalk in me and mine in him, and the intense naughtiness, the unashamedness of what we were doing and where we were doing it, more than counteracted that. I felt myself reaching a pleasant plateau of arousal, which a little more oral attention on his part would turn into a powerful orgasm. Our positions shifted slowly as I gradually rolled over onto my back and he maneuvered himself to kneel above me, but we never lost contact with each other's shafts.
"Oh, shit," he suddenly said, releasing my erection and trying to slide off me. I looked up, past his shaft. A pair of hikers had just come around the corner and caught sight of us. They hurried on past the picnic area, not looking in our direction again, and disappeared in the trees.
I giggled. Maybe I blushed a little, and he did, too. But he took it more seriously than I did. They might come back, after all. With a regretful look on his face, he began pulling his speedo back on. I had no choice but to follow suit.
We chatted idly as he drove me back home, but as I climbed out of the car, he turned to me and said, "We're going to have to finish that sometime."
Nine months later, I was lying across the hood of his car, naked except for the thin nylon mesh of the blue athletic shorts I was wearing.
The elevator opened a few yards away and he stepped out into the parking garage. His mouth dropped open. He gasped. I couldn't suppress a grin at the sight. He lusted after me, I knew, but I hadn't quite appreciated just how much the shorts added to his excitement. Granted, this fetish of his was an uncommon one. I wasn't going to complain, though, not as the lightweight nylon fabric rubbed back and forth against my shaved genitals and made them swell, and certainly not as I watched the same process take place under the mesh of his black shorts.
His apartment was on the eleventh floor, a single large room with glass walls on two sides and a bed where half a dozen naked boys would have room to frolic. It was only empty for a brief moment before he laid me down on it.
We made out very gently as we lay there facing each other. He squeezed me through the fabric of my shorts, eliciting a drop of moisture from me that soaked through the mesh and left a tiny glistening spot which he rubbed with his thumb. I breathed heavily into his mouth - his lips were as soft and seductive as I remembered - and returned the favor, groping his length with alternate roughness and delicacy. My bare chest rubbed against the tight spandex of his running shirt. My toes pulled off the tiny ankle socks he had been wearing and threw them away.
He withdrew from me slowly and looked into my eyes. I knew what he wanted.
I stood up and pulled a disc from the small bag I had brought with me. The television on the wall flickered to life. I slid the disc into it and lay back down again, propping myself up on the pillows he had arranged. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders, but when I reached for the firm shaft clearly visible in his shorts, he moved my hand away. He made me wait.
And so we waited for nearly an hour with hardly more than an occasional touch, while he watched the film that only one other boy had ever seen. The film that I had made with a friend, that captured his showing off for me, my kneeling to take his erection in my mouth, and my final submission to him, legs spread, on my back, as he entered me.
The screen went dark and the boy beside me finally reached over to seize my concealed erection again. He silenced my gasp of mingled shock and relief with his mouth, plunging his wet tongue into me even as he worked to increase the dampness in the front of my shorts. I felt my juices flow out of me, felt his hand grow slick with them. He must have noticed it, too, but it wasn't enough for him. I was barely conscious of the fact that his tongue had withdrawn from between my lips before I realized that his hot breath was now blowing on me much lower down.
He sucked me through the lightweight cloth, squeezing with his lips and gently scraping the ridged head of my stalk with his teeth. I squirmed, but he held me firmly by the hips and I had no choice but to endure the stimulation, so arousing and so nearly painful at the same time. The nylon seemed to grow more abrasive when wet, which worked to his advantage. I gave a particularly violent lurch as he took the tip all the way into his mouth, and his hands shifted on my hips. My shorts went with them. Now my smooth torso was exposed almost all the way to the base of my boyhood, and my boyhood itself was trapped against the elastic waistband, unable to move freely under the soaked cloth. He didn't hesitate. He tugged again, and the shorts came off me, giving me relief from their tortures - and from his.
But with my nakedness now completely exposed, his priorities had shifted. He rose from his crouch and straddled me. His nylon-coated erection pressed against my lips, and I swallowed as much of it as I could. It was narrower than mine; it was just as wet. My upper lip caught on the edge of his corona and I held it there, while I used my tongue on that vulnerable delta which points the way along the underside of a boy's shaft to its tip. I probed him, the mesh offering no obstacle to my explorations. It deadened sensation ever so slightly, and in doing so actually heightened the body's response by making it anticipate those sensations it could still feel. The effect was obvious, apart from the additional arousal I could see he was deriving from this opportunity to act out his fetish. His hands were running over his lycra top as he rode my mouth, extracting the maximum pleasure from its touch as well as mine.
Then his eagerness must have passed some invisible line. In one motion, he whipped his shirt off and tossed it aside, pulled away from my oral ministrations and stood up, and unhooked his shorts from his erection. They dropped to his ankles, and he dropped down again between my legs. He raised them until my knees were tight against my chest, my soles facing the ceiling, and I felt his tongue lap up and down the hairless expanse between my buttocks. There was a faint squelching sound. I knew he was running an oiled hand over his shaft. His slippery fingers moved on to my cleft, where their frictionless touch made me quiver, and up to encircle my own stalk.
With each full stroke up and down my length he came a little closer to me. With each stroke he entered me a little further, until his absolute nakedness was pressed against mine. He kissed me, and our joining was complete.
We were in no hurry. He eased himself in and out of me slowly while our tongues fenced with one another. He looked into my eyes and smiled. His hips moved, and my body moved to accommodate him. My erection lay rigid across my stomach, never diminishing as he took me, only quivering with pleasure. Sometimes he stroked it lightly. Later he let a few drops of oil fall into my hand and I toyed with it myself. There was no need for pressure or haste; what he was doing to me kept it swollen and dripping. We moved languorously in our lust, prolonging the passion. And kissing each other, always kissing.
After a longer time that I would have thought possible, his hips rotated away from me for the final time. Our double coupling became a single one as he lay down beside me, still linked to me by his lips. Our slick bodies moved against one another. My hand was still moist with oil; so was his. Even as we clung to each other tightly, our tongues still seeking to penetrate as deeply as possible, we were busy stroking each other with feather-light touches. Oiled skin moves over oiled skin with almost impossible ease. He cupped his palm and rotated it around the head of my boyhood as if polishing a crystal ball. I responded with the same technique. His legs tensed, stiffened, pressed close against mine; his toes pointed up; he let his seed cover his stomach and chest. I groaned into him at the sight and gave way, coating his fingers. He kept stroking, rubbing me remorselessly back into myself as our bodies relaxed again and melded together.
After all, they deserved a rest. We had just enjoyed a climax nearly a year in the making.
Comments and feedback welcomed at peterderuthyn@gmail.com! Also look out for my upcoming collection "Toyboys and Other Stories".