(This is an excerpt from a longer piece that might actually be finished one day)

There was never a wonder about why it had happened that day of all days. Never wondered because Danny had obviously planned it, if not in every specific detail, then certainly in general. Neighbors and constant companions since fifth grade and now ready to graduate, we were unsupervised teens ready to leave our childhoods behind: chrysalises on the cusp of becoming something else.  At least one of us was. I thought I was ready, but years of following the lead of coaches and teammates had left me remarkably unable to choose a path for myself. I was the horse that, unbridled and unsaddled, still followed the steps of his master. Which is why I wanted to get away with Danny, my only friend who was not on a team with me or had an opinion to share about where I should go to college.

The cabin was great for that. We came down in the middle of the week because there was nobody around for a mile in every direction. We fished, swam, grilled burgers, now relaxed as dusk fell. We relaxed like most guys did-talking about girls, particularly about Crissy Myers. I had dated her for a hot minute and never got past first base. Danny had hit a home run with her right out of the box and never tired of ragging me about it. Except for today. He’d mentioned it but then let it lie. He seemed nervous-jumpy-his foot tapping vibrating the bench. He couldn’t sit still-got up and paced from one side of the deck to the other.

“You OK, man?” I asked him once.

“Yeah, I’m fine”, he answered but paused with his back to me. He was wearing old gym shorts and an oversize T-shirt that hung low. He wasn’t a big guy-not as tall as me-but not slight. I was on the bench with my legs apart, watching him. He turned and without looking at me, walked up and slipped just inside my knees. Too close, really. His legs were almost touching mine. I was about to say something when I noticed.

“Dude”, I said. “You have a hard on.”

“Thinking about Crissy”, he said.

“I don’t think…” I began but stopped when I looked up at his face. In that second, I saw it. I saw it in his eyes and he looked away quickly knowing that I saw it. But I’d seen it and couldn’t unsee it. It was there. I even saw it on his lips when he wasn’t looking.

“Dan?” I asked.

“It’s your choice,” he said quietly.

“What is?”

He turned away and walked to the railing at the end of the deck. Turning to look at me over his shoulder he unsnapped his shorts and allowed them to fall to the floor. He wasn’t wearing underwear and his alabaster bottom glowed in the dim sundown light. He stepped out the shorts to widen his stance and bent over the top rail.

“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice grabbing.

“It’s here if you want it”, he said.

I didn’t trust myself just then to say anything. I remembered earlier in the day when when we were swimming and he’d rubbed against me underwater. I had pushed off of him and come to the top, thinking nothing of it. But I’d spend the better part of the rest of my life trying to remember or imagine signs that might have foretold what was happening that evening.

“I want it”, he said.

The voice, that plea, rings in my ears today. I don’t know-or didn’t at the time know-if I wanted it. So, I sat. Frozen. There was a part of me that didn’t want to leave him out there in a place that had probably taken him years to get to, by himself. The trust he had to feel-or the desperation that drove him-to put himself over that railing were not to be simply dismissed.

While I thought, while I considered, he waited. Not rock still-he moved a bit-up on his right toes, then his left-arching his back slightly then settling. No matter how much I thought, considered, re-thought, re-considered, there was one thing I could not ignore. My dick was pushing hard against the seam of my cut-offs. I looked down almost relieved to have the decision made for me. I stood and dropped my shorts, stepping out of them.

His rectum grabbed me so firmly I panicked for a moment thinking I remembered stories of men locking up like this. Which would have been unacceptable. But no. Once firmly implanted inside him-tightly enough that my legs rubbed his and hipbones pressed his butt-I was able to withdraw-partly and slowly-then slide in again. Then again, picking up the pace each time.

“Oh Jesus”, he gasped over his shoulder, “I love this!”

I pushed his shirt up his back wanting to expose more of him. “Me too”, I said catching my breath and feeling the weight growing heavier deep inside me with every thrust. Me too, I repeated to myself. I stood straight, arching, and looked down, watching his ass take me over and over. Danny’s right arm was working; stroking his penis feverishly.

He came first, with a groan spattering his seed over the trees and shrubs below the deck. Cumming, his asshole grabbed me tighter than possible-a strong hand squeezing-and I shot hard and deep, driving him into the wooden railing and coming up on my toes until the spasms passed and I settled back onto my feet. Then, careful not to touch him anywhere but on the hips, I slipped myself out from between his cheeks, chastely ignoring his soft moan. We went swimming.

That night we smoked the only joint we had and drank two of the six beers we brought along. We were young-today a six pack wouldn’t last the ride down-then it was enough for three days. Neither one of us spoke of what we did as we sat there on the deck listening to the nighttime symphony of insects, night birds and frogs. I don’t think we were ignoring what we’d done by any means, but really didn’t know how to react.  The exercise had felt more athletic than sexual so we, at least I, treated it as such and spent the evening as we had the previous one: talking about school, plans, girls and playing hearts.



The Boys

photo 4

“Hey, listen to this…” Frank looked up over his book at his roommate who was likewise studying sprawled out on the couch. Frank read:

“….the newly made witch had to be passed into the coven afore…”


“I’m just reading as it’s written….’Afore she could take her place in the dark society. That would typically happen the first full moon after her makin’. She was brought into a clearing by the elder witches, stripped nekkid and bent over a log. Then all the witches in the coven would whip her fanny with the cuttings of rose bushes…”

“Yeowch!” said Bob from the couch.

“…until the skin was raw then the devil hisself would appear with his own switch until his marks mingled with the others. Then the witch was considered part of the tribe.”

“What are you reading?”

“It’s for a paper on 19th century American folklore. I’m doing Appalachia…”

Bob put his book down open on his chest. His six-foot plus frame didn’t quite fit on the couch-one foot was hanging over the arm and the other was propped on the battered coffee table. “So see? You’re not the only one who enjoys getting his butt beat now and then.”

“I don’t know if ‘enjoy’ is the right word…in this context”, he said lifting the book.

“I’d do it without the rose branches…”

“Big of you…”

The boys had stayed at school through the summer to pick up some extra credits that were there for the taking. The campus was dead in the summer but since they lived off-campus housing was not an issue but having no one around was. There were no parties, no women to speak of, the bars were full of locals, nothing to do but go to class, study and otherwise amuse themselves.

Later they would wonder if this enforced solitude was what ultimately had pushed them down the road they went down.

The first time anything “untoward” had happened began innocuously enough. They were sitting on the couch one drizzly Thursday evening smoking a bowl and watching Jeopardy. Maybe Frank was holding onto the pipe for too long, maybe he wasn’t. But Bob thought he was. He reached across and tried to grab at it but Frank-more in fun than anything-held it as far out of reach as he could, forcing Bob to climb over him toward it. Frank was no physical match for him as they laughed, cussed and wrestled themselves onto the floor. Frank held the pipe in his fist and tried to crawl away only to be crushed to the floor on his stomach as Bob tackled him then sat astride him facing backwards.

“Give it up!” he barked.

“No way-“Frank tried squirming away.

Then, with no malice aforethought, thinking nothing actually beyond wrestling on the floor, Bob hauled off and smacked his roommate right on his ass. “Hey!” Frank had yelped.

“The pipe!” Bob demanded.

“No!” was the answer.

SWAT! Another smack landed right where the first had-exactly in the middle of Frank’s denim-clad right cheek. “OW!”

“The pipe!”


SWAT! This time on the left cheek. “OW-Jesus Bob. That hurt.” Curiously though, Frank had stopped struggling to get free and the pipe-long gone out-gripped in his right fist had become an afterthought. He lay there almost holding his breath as his friend smacked his ass twice more. Then again-and again-alternating cheeks. The swats hurt-Bob was a tough guy-but he really wasn’t really feeling any pain exactly. He was feeling something-the weight pinning him down, the heat being generated on his backside, a stirring up front grinding the floor…but it wasn’t pain.

He felt Bob shift on top of him and the spanking stopped. “Do you want anymore?”

Oh great-a trick question. The true answer would admit that he was kind of liking this somehow and invite more. Which would be fine-which would be better than stopping-but the whole idea of liking it? Too much to process right now. Instead he reached back and handed over the pipe. “You win…”

“Hah!” Bob barked and slapped his butt one more time-softer, almost a pat-and got off. He stayed on the floor and sat against the couch. Frank pushed himself up and likewise flopped against the couch. As if someone had turned the TV back on they discovered Final Jeopardy and stared at the tube while Bob relit the bowl.

Neither called attention to-nor ignored-Bob’s hard on which was slowing receding back up his leg.

“That was odd…” Bob gasped holding his breath to keep the smoke in. He handed the pipe over.

“Exceedingly so….” Frank agreed.

Suddenly the room felt a little tighter and air was tough to come by.

“Let’s get out of here and grab a beer…” Bob said getting up quickly.

“Good idea”, agreed Frank and they were out the door without turning off the TV.

That was two months and about a dozen spankings ago.

To Be Continued