Boys in Their Summertime
By
Tim Stillman
Boys in the summertime. Yawning and stretching in their beds. Rubbing their penises in the early morning. Finding their friends stiff and ready. Boys in the summer attics, reading comic books and their lives away. Robin and Aqualad, where are you? Don't you want to go bare swimming today? School is over and boys run to tables for breakfasts and drink their milk, pretending it cum. Drink the morning sunshine gold in their heartbeats. Boys in gear for their run. Bare chested and short shorts, barefooted in the grass of summer yards. Feel of sexual. Feel of masturbation five times in one day, and laze and sleep the rest of the summer away. Boys for baseball and for group examination. Boys in shorts and boys naked in their rooms. Proud of their developing bodies. And isn't that a little pubic hair finally too?
A world of boys and bicycles and long summer hills. Riding their legs like pistons on their trust metal steeds. Dressed for themselves, dressed for summer heat and long down winter winding roads no more. Boys of red hair and black hair and blonde and brown too. Eyes of all the colors of the rainbow, whispering pastel most of the time. The scene of boy hood, the creepy little frogs that youngest hands catch, before letting go. Boys in shorts with their penises an arrow, round the fine neighborhood they go. Feeling their oats and feeding their fancies with the summer sun blazing down on them in break through summer mist. Call all boys and feel the dissention, and feel the nervous fingers and hands and muscles and legs and arms and hearts with this powerful pump of a beat. And when mom finally goes to work and no one left in the house but a singular boy to pretend fucking and to cum so finally and with all the interior sucked out of him, let him know that in that five minutes of bliss, this is the will of summer and the beast of it and digging his toes and fingers into his bed spread, touch the summer clock and please never let me go.
Boys all sexy and boys all pondering, and boys kissing up lips real close. And boys measuring their hard-ons with rulers, and boys touching each other you know where. Boys masturbating and could that be some sucking each other off? In gentle spread washdays with the smells of summerhouse hold products, Spic and Span and Windex and Joy dish washing liquid. And summer homes where school does not intrude and the gentle summer trees in the yard are full of fecundity as it the grass on a series of plotted square summer lawns. Nothing on loan here, filled with erections and balls that grow tight all the time. Feel boyhood and feel the reflections of a naked boy lost in the lake of time. The air seems all gold and blue these days, as summer starts to unfold its flag of freedom and books to read and movies to see and TV shows in the day time to watch, and holding their penises secretly with their hands in their pockets and jacking off gently with stealth a forethought as "I Love Lucy" plays again for the millionth time before their eyes, and they seeing not that but into their dreams that can always and forever become summer candy. Create a love, create a boy not of mirror variety, but one who is there and when you are mas--, say jack off, it's cooler man, there would be another boy of light fingers stealing your heart away as he touches your prepubescent penis and says let me try, as you give over to him and he knows exactly the right way to do it. And he puts his face next to yours and it is beautiful swan and peacock and silver moons at night time when the day gives way and lets shine sparkle off lightning bug lights and blink moth killing lights on summer porches as the night comforts and gives you a hand in leading to warm sleep and warmer tomorrows when you run the down length and breadth and side wise too.
All boys and all summer leading on a fine thin leash, all the wires attached to the moments, attached to the fireworks leading to the Fourth, and catch ball and swimming pool municipal, where boys can shower before going in or dressing again, and can play with their own balls just getting them clean after all, no big deal. And the summer you remember the joy of first cumming. The wonderful giggly feel of it and the smiles through your body, of course it will take some cleaning up so Mom doesn't notice but now is for effluvium and now is for rejoicing and pennants and carnival music, that will come with the rag tag carny at the end of summer, but for now it's all beginning as your penis clicks and clicks and pours out even a little bit more of boy froth, and you look at your penis and balls and your body amazed, thinking this is me, and this is my name, and I am a boy and I am a person and I am suddenly crossed the wide gulf, for I am somehow pulled together as one, I am suddenly somehow imagine it--me.
And summer moves to heat and humidity and you take in a movie or two, who cares what it might be?, IT'S COOL INSIDE, the banner outside the theatre reads in frosty and icy words, and you go to the dark for the ten cent matinee and you watch horror films or even things that bore you to tears, but IT'S COOL INSIDE and that makes it worth if, even if you have to endure Pat Boone singing "April Love"--quick, someone, gag me with a spoon. And summer is for running and summer is for flash pasting the world in all its happy finery. All the smiles Bergman promised are here at your doorstep, and friends are to be found just across the street. And if DC comics rejected your latest letter to them, it was fine, because they sent you a post card thanking you, with drawings of the faces of Superman and Lois and Jimmy and Perry and Clark, treasures you put with each other and think the cards came all the way from New York, right from within the DC comics building. Where summer is songs and dancing on lawns at midnight, and some one fine late night, taking your life in your hands, building the courage from now to uncertain tomorrow night, filled with stomach butterflies and daring and now and run in the dark house, having become somehow bare, and out the door to the front yard of darkest night--god you think I must be quite mad, which of course you are, as somehow in that fear you managed to sprout a boner, and wave it up and down, without even touching it with your hands, which in fist form on the sides of your hips and proudly saying silently the whole goddam lonely world, hey, over here, come on, world, suck me..And then adding in an addendum of mind whisper..please..before running fast as hell back to the house and to bed, covering up and shivering, knowing and knowing somebody saw you and with much guilt sweating weeks away before letting up on the fear. And for forever stunned that you actually stoked your shy terrified self to do it....
Summer and ice cream wagons and summer and Dairy Queen parfaits, and summer and the drug store with swimming gear and Coppertone, and the paper back rack where you bought other people's dreams and raced back to your summer time finally air conditioned house, and sat in your bedroom, in the rocker, with your tennis shoes shod feet on the bed and read the summer afternoon away with books of treasures "Too Friendly, Too Dead" and "The List of Adrian Messenger" and "Warrant for X" and "Stories From The Twilight Zone" and a glass of lemonade on a TV tray by your bed. Thinking don't end, don't pull me away from brocade skies and soft morning winds when a boy every July morning came to your door and he was your friend.
And summer and night time after lime sherbet, then to bed with fresh smooth white sheets, covering over in the sprinkle of dream lights and tomorrow for cinnamon toothpicks at the corner grocery, and hills to ride up and ride down like the Flash and doorsteps to walk up and away from for good and down town with deeds of nothing to spend and spending with such easeful alacrity. To be in a body of boys part of a splendid complex variety, to be a child and to have secret pleasures that were found in the vicinity of this wondrous thing called a penis that you rubbed at night and felt so orgasmic good, that drifted you off to soft sea sleep, and in the morning the summer sun would turn on its light again, sure as clockwork, and the day would say, now, boys, what next?, what can we do in our days so very fleeting, and oh yes, I have an idea, I had completely forgotten, forgive me summer, you in infinite kindness and largess and summer heart sun, have introduced me to me, and it's off and running at six a.m. the next day and it's a friend running by your side, when everything was new and you believed in forever and there it was, right there next to you, sweet smelling newly cut grass and tasting like peppermint leaves and little wax bottles with juice in them, the bottles you ate of course, that tasted so delicious, and there it was, forever and tomorrow running with you, right at your side.