Jay & Miles - 15. Sleepover

POV: Mikey, Dirck, Jay, Mikey

“I have to have a talk with your mother?” Jay’s soft question sighed through the cab like a whispery breeze through long grass. We had tried finding some music when we left Eastland, but this close to midnight, AM radio was mostly static or blustery talk-show hosts, so we turned it off. Maybe we could pool our resources and get a new radio for it—something with FM and maybe a cassette deck. On our radio at home, I could easily pick up stations from Newark and Columbus on FM, even the small one which broadcast from Granville’s Denison University...and that one is where I got my taste for newer stuff like Kraftwerk and Rick Wakeman.

Right now, I had been content to let his hand guide me through the gear changes as it had on the drive into town. Traffic was practically non-existent on 70 going east, so I could look at him to my heart’s content between the sodium flashes of the occasional flood-lights and the green and white signs. I could see the slight frown distorting his brows as he thought about what I had just told him: that my mother had insisted on meeting him tomorrow as a condition for my being allowed to stay tonight at his place. “Yes, kæreste...for some insane reason, she wants to see the boor who’s—unbeknownst to her—kissing her baby boy.”

Jay’s grin, which I could see in my mind’s eye if not in the near-darkness of the truck, was clearly evident in his denial. “But I’m not kissing him—he’s too far away….”

I looked forward and back at the surrounding lanes and saw no traffic, so I scooted across the cloth-covered seat to lean into Jay’s side. My right hand snaked its way to his chest as I leaned in to plant a soft kiss on his right cheek. “Better?” He leaned into my lips for a few moments, never taking his eyes off the road, despite the lack of other vehicles.

“You know...you shouldn’t worry about meeting my mom—she is always polite to strangers—she may even offer you a snack if it’s not near dinner time…” I could still feel the tension in his body, and I knew that I had caused it by my confessions of last night and this morning. “Jay, she isn’t mean—neither is my dad—they are just busy—all I’m worried about is what questions you’ll get asked.”

“Why’s that, Slik?” I’d discovered the small roll of Lifesavers in his glove box and just popped one in my mouth, and he could smell the orangey scent of it with my lips just inches from his jaw as I settled against his shoulder.

“I’m afraid that if you mention driving, or me riding Gulliver, she will panic and insist I not visit you anymore…what she doesn’t know, won’t hurt us.” I hated so much to ask this of him because it felt like lying, but for right now I saw no other way. “Later on, when she knows you better, we can work around to Gulliver…”

Jay took my hand from between the snaps of his shirt, and kissed my palm quickly. “That’s my boy—fretting over things that haven’t happened yet.” He nuzzled my hair for a second. “Got one of those for me, or did you eat them all?” I pulled one of the little ‘O’-shaped candies from the waxed paper-and-foil roll and popped it into his mouth. “Yuck—why couldn’t you have gotten the pineapple one?”

“Because I’m tart enough as it is..?” I whispered into his ear, and we settled into a comfortable silence for the rest of our drive to his parents’ house.

* * * * * * * * * *

Rosalie came out of the kitchen with some buttered popcorn and set it on the coffee-table next to the three small glasses of wine. The television was beginning the first commercial break for Mary Tyler Moore when the phone rang. She went to get it, and returned about five minutes later after some muffled conversation in the other room. She took a long look at Linda as she sat next to Dirck on the sofa. This wasn’t going to be pretty.

“Jens called from the mall—he wanted to know if Mikey could stay overnight…” She saw her daughter’s eyes fix on her as she went on. “I told him it was okay if his mom agreed, which she did when I talked with her just now.”

Linda set her glass of wine down carefully. Her eyes flicked from one parent to the other, trying to remain calm—she didn’t want to have another ‘living room talk’ with her father again. “You know they’re boyfriends right? Jay was all over him when they were brushing down Gulliver!”

Dirck looked at his wife, who had turned to regard him with an equally distressed expression. “May I ask why you were spying on your brother and his guest? And why you feel the need to bring up something so private?” Before Linda could answer, Rosalie cut in: “Of more concern to me is why you needed to comment on your brother’s personal life at all?”

Linda knew she’d made a mistake almost as soon as her words left her mouth—they were sure to arouse her parents displeasure, and it wasn’t really the fact that Jay seemed to be in love with another guy which was the problem for her—he could date his dumb horse for all she cared. “Far, I wasn’t spying—I went in to get the feed for the chickens—and I just saw them. Believe me, I don’t want to see Jay making out with anybody! So he likes boys—big deal. But if it gets out at school...then it’s a problem for all of us.” She’d almost said ‘a problem for me’, but caught herself at the last second. Usually she knew how to handle her parents, and was surprised that she’d messed up so badly this weekend.

After another exchange of glances it was Rosalie who spoke. “So why did you bring up the fact that they are boyfriends?” The ‘school issue’ would have to be discussed at some point, but not just yet. She knew that was important to Linda, but it wasn’t what was really bothering her daughter the most. The look on the young girl’s face confirmed that.

“Alright—here’s the deal: I don’t think it’s fair that Jay can have his boyfriend spend the night—and I can’t! You know they’re going to do things.” She almost smiled when she saw how uncomfortable her father looked just then—but this was too important for her to risk jeopardizing it. “I’m sorry, far, but having one standard for Jay, and another for me is just wrong—it’s why they invented the Pill, for god’s sake.”

Dirck stood up abruptly, grabbing his wine-glass. He drained its contents and turned toward the kitchen. “I think I need a refill.” He paused next to his daughter and stroked her blonde hair gently. “Lene, I love you, don’t doubt that for a second...but I think mor should handle it from here.” He was a little stunned when she stood up and gave him a big hug—she hadn’t done that for several years now, considering herself too grown up for such a thing—but it made him feel ten feet tall again. “Whatever you two decide, I’m fine with—just be sure, okay?”

Dirck sat at the kitchen table having a second glass of wine and munching on a roast pork sandwich thinking about the whole concept of Dating; he remembered the frustration and the near-crippling need he’d felt back when he was his son’s age, but 1946 was a very different time than it was now, thirty years later. Rosalie’s father, Mr. Voss, had done his best to make sure the two of them were never left alone too long, but Dirck had been raised to respect others, particularly women, and it had been his wife-to-be who had broken the ice by telling him she had those same urges—and that led to a courtship which included mutual agreement on what sexual activities they’d do, or save for after their marriage. They had both been virgins that day, but only just.

He and Rosalie had not fooled themselves into thinking that when their children became teenagers they wouldn’t want to have sex, and they had been very open with them about the subject, discussing the changes puberty wrought on their bodies and minds, teaching them that there was more to it than just the physical joining of male and female—or people of their own sex for that matter—no, they emphasized that the most important part of the sexual act was love, tied neck-and-neck with respect. He very much feared that they had failed with Lene.

Gejr had been so easy, he thought ruefully, the boy didn’t seem to show any interest in sex at all! Dirck knew that was only a façade, since there had never been a boy born who didn’t think about sex even a little bit...but after their initial talk, he’d not brought up the subject again. From Rosalie he knew their oldest had masturbated, but Gejr’d never asked about girls or boys when he should have been dating.

Lene had been just the opposite: after their talk, she’d asked questions, all of them sensible, then a few years later, she seemed to turn into a dating monster—it seemed to him and Rosalie that there was a different boy every few weeks. Just before she turned sixteen, she’d asked her mom for advice on contraceptives...and they’d agreed that she should start taking the oral Pill as the most reliable and safest available. Lene had brought a few boys home to meet them, but after a month or two, they were gone. From Famine to Feast, he thought the old saw fit better reversed in this situation. And now, Jay...quiet like his older brother, smart like his older sister—much as he’d deny that—and caring and considerate like his mother; he’d not dated before this, but had friends aplenty...and now that he was dating, had he been lucky enough to find the right person the first time?

A hand on his shoulder caused him to start...he’d been so engrossed in his reverie that he hadn’t seen Rosalie come in with her own wine glass.

“Hvordan gik det?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. Rosalie sipped her wine slowly as she sat down opposite him at the scarred table. She gave him a wan smile, and took his hand in hers. Those blue eyes were still sparkling, so it couldn’t have been too bad—he hoped.

“Godt.” The pressure on his hand increased until Dirck winced, and she laughed. “You swine—leaving me to handle her by myself! Just for that, I may not tell you what I learned…”

After a few minutes of making him sweat as she sipped her wine, she told him anyway: it wasn’t the worst he could imagine, but he had not really had much hope that his daughter was still a virgin...not at eighteen. Lene’s philosophy seemed to be to try out boys for a month or so, and if they passed her standards, she’d bring them home to meet the parents—but those standards seemed to be pretty high, looks mattered a lot, but so did brains...and oddly enough, manners. If they had all those, then she’d move on to some physical play….Rosalie eased his mind a little bit on that point, saying that Lene had done all the things the two of them had done as teens, except that she’d actually ‘gone all the way’ three times.

Dirck finished off his wine in one gulp on hearing that, but refrained from having a third—for now. Rosalie continued as she took a piece of his sandwich. “Don’t worry, søde. She didn’t like it the first time, so the next two were only to see if that was a fluke. The third time, she enjoyed it, but she’s decided that it can wait until she’s found the right partner.”

“Partner? You mean she’s tried girls too?” Why did his voice sound shocked by that? He’d understood from Rosalie that most young girls tried it a few times, probably just as often if not more than boys did.

“Yes...and while she found it less stressful than boys, she’s sure that her future will include a husband and two children.” Dirck noted the emphasis placed on the number ‘two’, and he asked about that.

“Two, no more than that, gender notwithstanding...it’s an ecological necessity for her not to increase the population of the planet by having more than that. When I pressed further, she said she wanted our genes to be part of the future generations, since Jay probably won’t have any kids, and Gejr hasn’t shown any effort in that direction either.”

Dirck shook his head sadly, knowing his daughter would excel at parenting so far as she knew it...but hoped the father would have twice as much love to give their kids if Linda didn't show it herself. For his part, he’d spoil them rotten every chance he got, and so would Rosalie. “Is that it, anything else I should brace myself for?”

Rosalie gave him a wicked grin—a match for the one he used on his children, for he’d learned it from her when they dated. “You’ll love this: until she leaves for college, we allow her to have her boyfriend stay over as many times as Jay does.”

Dirck was about to protest that it was different for Jay, and not because he was a boy—it was because he was dating one, but he knew his wife had already pointed that out...it was her family’s major trait to ‘cover all the bases’, just as his father had taught him to ‘get the facts’ before making a decision. He sighed in defeat; there was no doubt that Lene got the best faculties of both families—in spades.

“And now?” he asked, pushing the remainder of his sandwich toward his wife, who began to finish it off. From the living room could be heard the opening for Carol Burnett.

“Now, you get to talk to Jay.”

* * * * * * * * * *

“Wake up, kæreste...we’re home.” I gave Mikey’s shoulder a little nudge and lay my hand on his cheek so he wouldn’t jump up and bang his head on the steering wheel. He’d fallen asleep the last ten minutes of our drive while leaning into my side, and since I needed to shift gears, I eased him down so his head was lying in my lap while my right hand could rest on his chest when not needed for running the truck.

“I wasn’t asleep—I was just resting my eyes.” The glow from the light above the barn door cast just enough of itself into the truck’s cabin for me to make out his befuddled features—and I marvelled at how care-free he looked as he slept—nothing like he had before Wednesday. I helped him sit up and arrange his shirt as I kissed him, still finding the remnants of orange candy on his lips.

“Uh-huh, well, I’ll tell that to the man who crept into the truck and sawed enough logs to heat the house through next winter.” That earned me a glare and a not-so-delicate punch in the arm.

“I do not snore!” He looked around to see if anyone else would confirm his assertion, but of course, there was only me. Even with an indignant pout he was cute.

“Since you were sleeping, how do you know?” I asked quite reasonably, which left his mouth working, trying to find the words—any words—which would believably refute my question.

“As Walter Cronkite says at the end of the news: ‘And that’s the way it is…’” To forestall any further protest, I made sure he got another very thorough kissing before I opened the door to head into the house. The chill was worse away from the city’s blacktop and concrete, so I slipped my arm around him as we neared the screened porch—our way lit both by the barn-light and that coming from the kitchen. As I closed the door, we took a second to enjoy the heat before he kicked off his loafers and I bent down to pull off my boots. I had one off when he laid a hand on my bent-over shoulder. “I left my shopping bag out in the truck...can you go get it for me?” I tilted my head up to look at his worried face, and he added: “It’s kinda important...”

Coming back into the house, I saw Mikey sitting at the table with my dad, and slipped into the chair next to him, taking his hand as I put the white Lazarus bag on the table. My dad was laughing at the story of the movie mix-up, then asked about the new friends we’d made. “I’m a little worried, boys—I’m sure they’re nice or you wouldn’t have taken to them so readily, but can they be trusted?”

I pulled the old copy of The Advocate from the bag, and handed it to him, as I described my error of thinking it was the local paper. Dirck looked at the front page, then skimmed a few interior ones before putting it on the table. “You say they’re from San Francisco?” At our nods, he rubbed his chin for a minute before going on. “Boys, that’s a whole different world from Columbus...just last year, the police were acting like it was ‘open season’ on harassing gays in town…I’m worried that you’ll be hurt if you spend time with these two.”

I looked at Mikey and he squeezed my hand reässuringly before he turned to my dad and placed his hand on his work-roughened one. His voice was soft but resolute. “Mr...Dirck, me and Jay know that: we can’t be ‘out’ in this town or any other right now; Dave and Trebor watched out for us tonight, making sure we didn’t let anything give us away—they aren’t out either except to one or two close friends here. They gave us some good advice about being careful, and about what to be wary of in the gay community as well—like it not being about sex, but love and respect.”

I watched dad’s face as he thought about this development—the advice Mikey mentioned was nearly identical to that I’d received four years ago in our ‘Talk’. “How old are they? Are they responsible?” By that, I knew he meant whether they drank, so I decided to answer this one. Mikey’s eyes got bigger as I moved my hand to my shirt pocket where Treb’s present was hidden. After a long look into my eyes, he nodded.

The shiny clear plastic bag lay between us, holding the small white-wrapped contents safe. We watched as dad picked up the bag, examining it from the outside before opening it. The slightly pungent aroma came to us, not as sweet as tobacco, but not harshly bitter either. He closed it again and set it down on the table where it had lain before. It was hard to read the expression on his face, but his eyes showed he had a myriad questions and concerns. “Tell me.”

So we did, taking turns sharing the events in the back of the van: drinking sodas and talking about being gay, being discreet, how Treb had rolled the joints, with an offer to join them—but we both emphasized that there was no pressure to try it when we turned it down—and that the duo had put it away untouched. The fact that both boys had a GPA of 3.75 helped his mood, but I thought the bigger clincher was that we could throw it away and they’d still count us as friends, respecting our boundaries.

“And have you decided to try it?” Dirck asked in a low tone.

“I don’t know, far. Mikey has tried cigarettes, but I haven’t...we both think this is a big deal we need to talk over.” Mikey nodded gravely and took up the story. “I smoked for two weeks when I was twelve, and quit. I don’t see this as a tempting habit to do often, or recklessly.

“My parents don’t smoke, but my sisters all do, so I guess that was why I tried it—but I learned that doing things just because others do isn’t the way to run your life. The same goes for drinking—my grandpa used to brew his own beer, and when I was four I kept picking up his bottle—after three noes, he said ‘If you touch it again, you have to drink it’...well, I was a kid, so I did—and he made me drink the whole bottle. The only thing I can really remember happening was throwing up all over the place. I haven’t touched alcohol since.”

We had a good laugh at his sad experience, but for me, I got the impression that my boyfriend might be more willing to try new things than I, but would consider every consequence before doing so. I felt better knowing that he would clearly chart any path ahead and explain all it’s aspects to me before we came to any decisions; were it up to me, I could go headlong into something with only a little fore-thought—now I knew that Mikey wouldn’t let that happen.

“Okay, here’s the lecture part: you know how serious this is, so I know you won’t treat it lightly—and I won’t drag out the propaganda of the politicians or the advocates for legalizing it; the decision to make it against the law in the first place happened just before our parents came over from Europe...and it was politically motivated, not based on solid evidence of harm or sincere moral concerns. I won’t tell you to throw it away because you could just get more elsewhere—so I’ll just say this: if you try it, do it where you will be safe, not go or drive anywhere afterwards until the effects wear off—even if that means you spend the night in the truck or at a friend’s. This also applies to any drinking you might do—I’d rather see my boys safe the next day than in the hospital that night because you were concerned about getting home.”

I looked to my right when I heard a sniffle and saw Mikey wiping his eyes with a finger behind his lenses, and wondered why he looked a little blurry to me until I raised a hand to my own wet cheek. I watched as he got up out of his chair and walked around the table to my dad, enveloping him in a hug with both arms, and resting his head on his shoulder. I knew Dad was touched by this, but I saw actual tears fall down his cheeks when Mikey uttered two simple words: “Tak, far…”

After a few minutes of gathering ourselves together, Dad gave a small chuckle and shifted in his seat. “There’s another thing we need to cover: Lene had a little ‘freak-out’ as you kids say, when Rosalie said you’d be staying the night. It’s nothing to worry about, but it took a certain level of discussion between her and your sister before a state of détente was reached…” A chagrined look came to his face as he shook his head. “I learned things a father would rather not hear about his daughter’s life...but the upshot is this: stay over as often as you like Mikey, be hygge with Jay…” he laughed when both of us reddened and tried not to look at each other, “...just try to keep the noise level down if we’re home.

“One other thing, boys—don’t rush into things you aren’t ready for, ‘It’ is so much more fun when you both take the time to make sure the other person enjoys it too.” Dad stood up and gave each of us a hug and a tousle of the hair before he headed upstairs. He poked his head back around the corner of the door and gave us one last word of advice: “You might want to talk with your Uncle Mikkel before things go much farther, Jens....Nat, sønner.”

I told Dad goodnight and got up to pull a glass out of the cabinet to the right of the sink. “Tea okay, we don’t have any Pepsi—but I’ll have mor pick up some when she goes to the store on Monday—I’m out of grape too.” Mikey told me he’d share mine when I reached for a second glass, and I got a warm feeling in my stomach as I poured some over a few cubes of ice. Turning back after closing the refrigerator door, I saw two small boxes sitting in the middle of the table, one in gold, the other in silver paper. Mikey was looking embarrassed as I walked back to sit by him, so I took a sip of the tea and handed the glass over to him. The glass shook a bit as he tasted it, so I took his hand in mine and held it steady as he drank. The two little stickers had our names on them, and I smiled as I slipped my arm around his neck, drawing him down just enough so I could kiss him. “You bought presents?” That was stupid, I could plainly see them, so I pretended to smack myself on the head and he laughed.

“I’m worried, kæreste...because I bought the one for me at the same time—and I’m afraid that you’ll feel bad that I didn’t give you the chance to do it instead.” I hated to see Mikey doubting himself so because I knew that whatever he did, he did it after a lot of thought, so there was a good reason for him to do it this way. The solution was so simple. I brushed his hair back from his brow and held him for a few minutes before letting go. I picked up both boxes, and handed him the one with my name on it.

“Min søde dreng...it’s not who bought them, or the surprise—it’s all about the feelings behind the giving. These tokens are given with the deepest love, and that’s what counts...we’ll open them, and then give them to each other....” I hoped he could figure out what I meant because it sounded muddled to me, as Mikey is better with words than I am. We opened the boxes, lifting the lids at the same time. Holding the chains up so the charms glinted in the light, I knew why they had to be bought together...and I also knew how utterly wrong I was to think that my love for Mikey couldn’t get any deeper—whenever I saw that tree around his neck, I’d know that here was the one person who completed me, who would fill my every need, every dream in this world and beyond.

After a lot of fumbling and blinking to clear blurry vision, we were able to see our charms around their proper necks. Seeing the tree around his neck I had no doubt that he was my focus, my rock, the safe haven for my soul when I felt lost—and in those hazel-brown eyes I knew he could see what he needed in me: a ray of light in the darkness, the hope which would carry him through his troubles, the wings to lift him up when he felt unable to go it alone.

My left hand reached out to trace the line of his jaw, down his neck and along the chain to cup the silver oak. My right hand took his and moved it so he clutched the little pegasus. I had to swallow the lump in my throat to get my words out. “Elskede—” my feelings had ratcheted up now to the point where ‘dearest’ wasn’t enough anymore. “...belovèd, maybe it’s too soon, but I can’t help how I feel—it’s only you, it always will be...for me.” Mikey blushed furiously, but he didn’t pull away, instead he leaned in and kissed my forehead so I could feel the brush of his lips as he whispered “Always and forever….”

I stifled a fake yawn as I took his hand. “Man, it’s nearly one o’clock—time for two tired guys to go to bed.”

Mikey grabbed the shopping bag in his other hand and giggled. “Strange, I’m not tired at all—but I think it’s time for bed anyway.”

* * * * * * * * * *

In Jay’s room at last, alone, his hair glimmered in the traces of light from the barn-facing window. I stopped his hand as it reached for the switch by the door, and steered him to the bed’s side as I turned on the lamp on the night-stand instead. “I want to see you…” I whispered, sitting next to him. In the soft glow he was suddenly shy, and I had to laugh because that was usually my province...but after our words downstairs, my reservations were gone.

Belovèd...who says that in 1976? It was silly, old-fashioned, but oh-so-romantic. My fingers ran through his golden hair, tracing his ears, cupping his cheeks as my thumbs caressed his closed eyelids and moved along the pert nose to his soft, pouty lips...the lips which had captured my heart with that one word ‘elskede.’ Those lips which now slightly open, drew gently on my thumb. I kissed his eyelids tenderly, adjusting my position so my back was against the pillows and the tall wooden headboard.

Jay scooted further up the bed so he could lean against me, chest to chest, and I felt his teeth part and his tongue brush my thumb which was still being suckled as we repositioned ourselves. Between us, I felt his fingers fumble with the buttons of my shirt, undoing them one by one then pulling the sides apart to expose my paler skin. Jay rolled his eyes upward to catch mine and I got his evil grin just before his head sank to my collar-bone and his lips began exploring the newly uncovered country beneath my shirt. Soft kisses, soft exhalations, and faint nibbles made their way downward, and my breath came in a sigh at the new sensations, until he got to my right nipple: my gasp was loud, and I feared I’d made too much noise at the intense jolt of electric sensations he was causing by his soft suctioning of the now-hard skin. My hands gave up running through his hair to press those lips harder against my chest….

Jay pulled me forward by my open shirt, yanking the tails out of my pants and down my shoulders then off to fall on the floor. I smiled at the delight his hands caused as they roamed my shoulders, down and around my biceps to trace the line of my spine, but I wanted more—he needed to be shirtless too—now! Thank god for snaps—my fingers gripped his collar and the beautiful grey cowboy shirt gave way to my tugging; as my lips attacked his chest from shoulder to lower pectorals, I fumbled at the snaps on his long sleeves, then the shirt was tossed aside as well. I have to confess that my lips were less gentle than his had been, but I think he enjoyed it if I could take his moans as approval. My lips latched themselves onto his left pec, just above his heart, and he yelped at the sudden increase in my suction. I knew I’d left a mark when I moved my attentions to his right pec, but any shirt would hide it. His hands grabbed my hair and pulled my head up to smash our mouths together—and I felt his tongue thrust between my lips, snaking it’s way along my teeth until I opened up for him—it was an intense, breathless, soul-devouring battle from that point on...twisting tongues seeking the deepest contact they could get, first in my mouth, then his. Saliva and the small beginnings of sweat wreathed our mouths and dotted our foreheads.

My brain was being overwhelmed with all these new sensations—I thought making out on my couch had been the best—but this had that beat by a mile. The smacking of lips, the urgency of our gasping breaths, all joined to make me dizzy...then came something unexpected—Jay backed up, on his knees, toward the foot of the bed. My head scraped down the walnut headboard when he jerked on my legs so that I was lying nearly flat, my head on his mashed pillow. If my own eyes hadn’t had the same look, the lust I saw in his would have scared me when he threw himself on top of me, our naked chests crashing together, our crotches joining in one hot fusion of steel. My hips thrust upward to meet his downward thrusts, as he also added a little side-to-side motion for extra insanity. I bent my knees and braced my socked feet on the blanket to give myself extra purchase, so that our grinding and thrusting took on a new vigor that was almost painful in it’s abandon.

My boy’s hands were gripping my shoulders one moment, then twining into my hair the next, all the while thrusting into my groin and upward in maddening strokes toward my navel...my hands circled around his back, slipping on the sweat which was building there, then scraping tracks down to his clenched butt. I pulled on his glutes in time with his lunges, trying to pull his hips inside mine somehow. I could feel beads of sweat dripping off his forehead onto my face, and our chests were covered in salty lubrication like two marathon runners. Jay forced his tongue into my mouth once more, smearing sweat and saliva across my cheeks and his, then he went slightly out of focus; I blinked, trying to figure out what had happened—I knew my eyes had my own sweat dripping into them, then his lips and nose trailed up my face to lick moisture from my cheeks—he’d removed my glasses.

I managed to gasp out a few breaths during this brief respite, and Jay raised up so that his hands could paw at my belt and chino’s zip. My own made quick work of his belt, but his jeans were so tight from his bulging dick that I couldn’t free the button—I wore my pants slightly looser, and the clasp at my waist was quickly opened and the grating of the metal teeth of my zipper was followed by a wonderful easing of pressure as he yanked my pants down and eventually off. My skimpy purple briefs were filled to overflowing with my hardened dick, but it didn’t peek out of the waistband because it was angled to my left thigh. Jay’s hands moved to cup my balls through the wet cloth, and he gave them a soft squeeze. I was certain my long, low moan could be heard by Gulliver out in the barn, but Jay was determined to make it worse by grazing his palm up the length of my shaft, then gripping it in his hand for a few top-to-bottom strokes.

I couldn’t get the damn button open on his jeans—Fuck it! With one mighty pull, the brass roundel popped off and was lost to sight and I heard a ripping sound as his zipper was torn apart as well. He yelped out a ‘Hey!’ as I jerked his jeans down his legs, leaving both of us in just our socks and underwear. The whiteness of his briefs was nearly as wet as my own shorts, and I could almost see him through the material—I would have if it hadn’t been for that baby-fly in the front too. My left hand went immediately to his rod which was tenting badly and began to stroke it while my right felt up his thigh to his nuts, and around to cup his ass through the soft cotton. I had one hand full of his cheek, the other rubbing the fabric of his briefs on his leaking shaft...his breathing, like mine had rocketed up in tempo and depth, the sweat becoming slicker as we went on, then my other hand joined its mate on his other butt-cheek. They must have hurt with the force I was using because he winced; I pulled him back down onto me, slamming our clothed tools together, and dug my fingers into his backside, pulling the cheeks apart so my index fingers could trace the cleft of his covered furrow.

“Oh shit—” he gasped when my finger traced the small hole there, and he literally jumped into me. His smooth muscled legs were sandwiched between my slightly longer ones as we thrust together, throbbing poles separated by two wispy pairs of shorts, now thoroughly soaked and reeking bleachily of pre-cum. My hands were everywhere on his back and in his hair, gripping the backs of his thighs for greater leverage; his hair was plastered to his head, the pale golden color of a fading sunset, his eyes though were pure sapphires reflecting the heat and raw brilliance of his lust. My legs were still slightly raised, but now I planted my feet along the inside of his so our lower legs were rubbing from knee to ankle, causing our socks to slip down a bit, his grey fighting the battle of need with my longer white ones. My head rolled from side to side as small grunts and gasps, and little mewling sounds came out of my mouth...before Jay covered it with his and we shared tongues, saliva, and breath, taking in the mix of heady aromas through parallel noses and into hungrily chewing mouths.

With what little remained of my conscious mind, I knew time was running out for us—I don’t know how he did it, but for me, I either had to cum soon—or die. I could feel my heart thudding in my chest with every pounding of my lover’s body into mine...or maybe it was our hearts beating as one in a frantic attempt to join physically. Holy fuck—if farm work builds up stamina like this, then I’m done for! I could feel the seconds flying by as my last reserves of sanity left...and just before my vision went black, I could feel a tremendous thrust and lips at my pec as my body locked into rigidity. When I could see again, my Great Dane was slumped into my chest, matted hair brushing my lips where it rested lankly, it too exhausted by the fervor and ferocity of our coupling. Spots floated before my eyes and the raggedness of our breathing heaved our chests in synch for some time. There was no way I could utter a single syllable, let alone a word at this point.

My farm-bred stallion nestled up against me, pressing against me from head to toe, and as he did, I could feel and smell the two loads of white spooge which filled our briefs and splattered our lower abdomens from it’s force and movement of our love-locked bodies. His breath tickled my neck as we lay entangled, the sweat continuing for a few minutes more as we collected our wind and wits from the lofty peaks of our passion. Eventually, I heard a long sigh, and a chuckle. “Jeepers?”

“Huh?” In the state I was in, I felt lucky to make that much sense.

“You yelled that as you blasted your load—the same time I did!” He used two fingers of his hand not wrapped around my neck to rub the slowly deflating bulge in my drenched briefs—the white showing clearly against the dark purple cotton. I had never cum so much in my life—and that wasn’t counting the fact that part of the load was his. I could only stare as he licked those fingers, giving me a...cum-eating grin. A moment later, he’d scooped up more to savor, then a third which he offered to me.

“How’s it taste?” I whispered in an awe-filled tone. He smacked his lips together, then sucked the third sample from his fingers—and pressed his lips to mine, his tongue giving me part of this new nectar as he’d done Friday night with the chocolate. I had to admit that while I preferred chocolate, having Jay’s essence mingled with my own made the taste entirely different from what I’d expected: I could get used to this very easily.

Jay started to get up, saying he needed to get a rag to clean us up, but I held onto him, unwilling to let him go for even a minute. “No, let me…” I rolled him onto his back and began to lick his chest, working down to his abdomen...when I got to his crotch, my lips danced along the wet white fabric, sucking at the material and my tongue massaged the lump beneath, seeking out every drop. Jay’s moans mounted as he pulled me around so that we were both mouth to crotch, and then mine began when he started licking and sucking my own briefs into his hungry mouth. It wasn’t long before I could feel stirrings under my tongue, and I knew he could also see my own growing bulge. Before I could lose control a second time, his lower body was clean, glistening with my spit, but free of all vestiges of our seed.

I pivoted around again and drew him against me, his head resting on my chest as I wrapped him in my arms—he curled against me, his right leg finding it’s way between mine where I kept it safe with mine. I trailed kisses along his forehead and into his hair...we’d both need a shower soon, but I wasn’t letting him go, not until I absolutely had to...in the morning.

His breathing was soft and slowing now as we drifted toward sleep...and I heard him whisper “...min elskede…” With my last coherent thought, I remembered why I yelled ‘jeepers!’...and I knew that when he called me Slik—I now had a pet name to call him.

“Until morning, Jeepers,” I whispered softly, then I too fell into a contented and dreamless slumber.