Catalina Cherries
by Joe Butterman

 

Chapter 6: Monday

My Grandfather whirred off to Sand Diego in the Packard shortly after breakfast.  Breakfast had been sublime: Grand Belle had made potato pancakes, scrapple, and eggs fried precisely right; there were fresh strawberries in that syrup that they make by themselves if they’re sliced and sugared lightly and left alone for a while.  We lavished the strawberries over the pancakes.  There was no Devonshire cream to put over the strawberries.  For some arcane reason, Bobbin approved of Devonshire cream, which sounded thoroughly English to me, but strongly disapproved of whipped cream.  The reason for this disapproval remained unclear and undisclosed.  I liked them both.  I drank milk.  My Grandparents drank coffee, which I thought smelled great.  I was old enough to tie my own necktie, and to carry a pocketknife, and to do some other things that I would never offer as part of an argument to my Grandparents, but I was still too young to drink coffee.  Just one of those mysteries, I guess.

I had asked if I might be able to sleep over at Gary’s some night.  Bobbin, invariably expansive when there was scrapple for breakfast, did not say “no” even though he’d not yet met Gary.  But Grand Belle spoke right up in Gary’s favor, so there was a conditional “yes.”  Such a thing, “surely” could not be considered in his absence as this would leave Grand Belle home alone; but if all agreed, it might be possible a little later.  It felt good knowing that my Grandmother depended on me.  There was a muffled clatter outside, the kind that is made when a bicycle, still in motion, is released and allowed to park itself on the grass.  The screen door rattled knockingly and I yelled, “Hey Johnny.  Come on in,” for it could only be he.  It was.  He bounced into the kitchen in bare feet and cut offs, smiling hugely, greeting us with a “Hi” that somehow resonated with his infectious joy.  Grand Belle informed him that he was hungry (these sorts of things were seldom left to chance or to choice) and, seating him, prepared him a plate of scrapple, eggs, and pancakes; I was not in the least put-out that he didn’t have to wear a shirt at table; it was okay, too, that he got all the rest of the strawberries.  He was worth it.  He received milk to drink, however.

“What did you and your Father do this weekend, Johnny,” Grand Belle inquired.  He finished chewing some scrapple (a veteran of our table he knew not to talk with his mouth full) and paused, fork laden with pancake and strawberries, said, “nuthin’ much.”  Experienced and completely unfazed by this response, Grand Belle proceeded to determine that they had: gone to Santa Monica, had visited the pier, had a steak dinner, “ridden” on the Ferris Wheel, gone to a John Wayne movie, bought some books and clothes for Johnny, and that his Father wanted to take him deep sea fishing soon.  To be sure, “ridden” did not escape unpunished.  This mild censure was followed by some entirely amiable comments about the vital importance of verbs.  But aside from that, Johnny had acquitted himself very well.  As he was wiping his mouth with his napkin, I asked Grand Belle if we could go out and play and Johnny thanked her for breakfast.

“Yes.  You are very welcome,” she replied smilingly.  Johnny rinsed and stacked his plate with the others and we were out the door.

“Let’s go to the jungle,” I suggested, hanging my t-shirt in the arbor.  Johnny nodded, but went first to his bicycle where he recovered a small brown paper bag.  It looked like it might contain a book.  I really like books.  I led the way through the arbor, into the Catalina Cherry jungle, down to the corner behind the roses.  Johnny had his fingers in my waistband the last few steps, and when I stopped, he spun me into a hug and kissed me wildly, tongue alive and thrusting.  I sucked on his tongue and returned the kiss as he was undressing me.  Since I was practically naked, this only took a second and then I got him naked too.  We kissed some more, and rubbed our boners together while we clutched and fondled one another’ butts.

“I missed you,” Johnny said, “I wish you could have come with me and we could have slept together.”

“Mmmmm, umph,” I rejoined, releasing his tongue from my mouth.  I felt the need to clarify my remarks, “me too.”  I kissed him some more and stroked him.  We sat down, close, but Indian style, and grabbed each other’s dicks, stroking and squeezing and feeling of them while we continued to kiss.

“I gotta tell ya something that’s really important,” I began.

“Yeah, me too,” Johnny said as he went down on my boner and started pumping with his hand while sucking with his mouth.  I rubbed his neck and head as he bobbed on my dick.  It can wait.  I started moving him gently around in our jungle, so that I could get my mouth on his boner; he knew what I was doing and moved with me and soon I was feasting on him.  He was just as tasty as the first time.  I really worked on him.  There was a sort of rolling motion to his thrusting and I matched it was a kind of toss of my head whenever I was right at the tip of his dick.  I liked the effect and I’m sure he did too.  I dropped his boner, and jacked it seriously with my hand for a few minutes while I worked his balls around in my mouth and tongued all over his sac.  The spit started to dry on his dick, though, so I resumed the mouth and lip action.  He was making some pleasure noises through his nose that I thought were neat.  I could also taste him dribbling in my mouth and I knew that it wouldn’t be long.  I took his shaft in my hand and started jacking again, but I kept my lips over the tip, sucked hard, and really worked my tongue, trying to slip it up his slit like Gary had done to me yesterday.  Boy!  Did he come!  Every part of him shuddered and clenched and really gushed into my mouth.  I was not close to cuming yet, and I noticed that when he was cuming, really in the intense part of it, his mouth and throat seemed to tighten around my boner and I liked this feeling a lot.  I worried about losing his cum, there was a lot of it, and I had to swallow quickly.  The taste remained, but I liked the cum too, I liked to swirl the cum around in my mouth and feel it gliding on my tongue.  I tool my hand off his dick, and got every inch of him into my mouth and throat, cradling it, ravishing it, loving it.  He resumed working gently on me, picking-up the pace real slowly and smoothly.  I just relaxed and gloried in the taste and feel of him in me, of me in him.  It didn’t take long and I was spurting and thrusting and spasming with the same pleasure that he had enjoyed just moments before.  We lay there, side-by-side, holding each other with our hands and our mouths, in the warmth and dappled sunshine of our private jungle.

I let him slip from my mouth first and gazed fondly on his cock and balls, I made a careful survey of his pubic hair; he still seemed to have a few more than me, but they were pretty fair, and so it really didn’t matter.  I smoothed his hair with my tongue.

“Johnny I really do have to tell ya something and it really is important,” I said while I admired the fall of his dick across his leg, the creases and folds of the satin flesh.

“Kay,” Johnny murmured, releasing me, and propping his head in his hand.  Playing for time, I rearranged his pubic hair with my tongue.  I sat back up Indian style and looked down on the beauty of him.  I stroked one of his nipples, based on previous experience; this seemed a useful technique when imparting vital information.

“Well.  There’s this new guy named Gary.  He just moved to town a coupla weeks or so ago.  And he just lives over there a block or so (tossing my head in the general direction of Gary’s).  He’s got a swimming pool and his folks are in the Navy.”  Johnny moved my hand down onto his flank, it seemed like he wanted to be stroked, so I did; he was pretty much laying on his side, so I started stroking him from his shoulder as far as I could easily reach down his leg.  It was like petting the cat only silkier and better.  I liked the way his wiener and balls were hanging down his side and I noted that the tip of dick almost reached to the leaves we were sitting on.  His balls were really relaxed and stretched out too, not all tucked-up like when you’ve been in the pool.  His sex was really beautiful.

“I was up in the Walnut tree,” I continued, “tryin’ to figure out a tree house for you.”  I thought it was a good touch keeping him as the center of things.  “And he just said, ‘hi’ and I looked down.  And there he was.  Just like that!  Then he met Grand Belle and she liked him.”  Everything seemed to be going pretty well, but now I became distracted, I was stroking Johnny’s pubic hair, which was nice and dry and fluffy – what there was of it – and I blurted out, “And he’s got more hair down here than me or you.”

“You saw him naked?”  Johnny’s eyebrows shot up, hazel eyes gleaming.

“Well, yeah.  We went over to his house and he said we should go swimmin’.  And I said I couldn’t cuz I just had my cut offs and ya know how they are when they’re wet.  And he said that his Dad said that boys should swim naked unless there are girls there.”

“Did you do IT?”  I had been reporting but now I was being questioned.

“Well, yeah.  We went swimmin’, like I said, naked, and we were lying on these recliner chairs and he started putting sun tan lotion on my butt cuz he didn’t want me to get sun burned.  And I thought that was awful nice of him.  And then I got a boner, and he had a boner, so we went into the dressing room and did it.”  I was breathless.

Johnny reached across my folded legs and took me in the palm of his hand; he cupped it and jiggled it all around.  I returned the caress.  For some reason, today, I was all concerned about pubic hair, I traced where Gary’s pubic hair was on Johnny, and pointed out that “His hair stops right here” and I drew a line on his stomach right at the top of his cock.

“What’s he look like?”  This all seemed to be going good: we were naked, holding each other, Johnny wasn’t mad and seemed really interested, “Well he spends lotsa time naked by his pool, so he’s all tanned here,” I traced Johnny’s tan lines and ran my hand all over that great area between the tan lines, “and I think that we should get tanned here too.  And his hair is black and his eyes are blue,” I was on a roll now, “and he wants to come over after lunch and meet you!”  Triumphant!  It was all out.

“Ya told him about me?”

Oops.  I guess it wasn’t “all” out after all.

“Well I had ta.  You’re my best friend of all.  And I love ya and everything.  So I had ta tell him about you cuz your’re so important and I was thinkin’ about you when I met him, ya know, and everything.”  I considered sucking on his dick.  This would at least keep me from blurting things out all over the place, but I didn’t have time.

“Did ya tell him that we did it?”  I looked down and I think I must’ve blushed and then I looked into his smiling eyes and felt lots better.

“Yeah.  Well I had ta.  He hadda know that you’re first.”

“What did ya tell him we did?”

“I told him about miniature golf.  And I told him about playin’ Indian an all that stuff.”

“Okay.  What’d he say about that?”

“I think he liked it cuz then we did it.”

“Did what?  Play Indian?”

“No.  You know.  It!”

Johnny had a little smile and he looked off into space.  He didn’t have that kinda dreamy look that Gary got.  It was more like he was thinking serious stuff.

“Char-Leee, John-neee,” Grand Belle called from the back door.  She didn’t wait for an answer, “You boys come in for lunch.”

“Comin’,” I acknowledged.

Johnny came back from that serious place, and wondered, “I wonder how three do it?”  We pulled on our cut offs and went in for lunch.

I’d reclaimed my t-shirt from the arbor, and I lent one of my other ones to Johnny for lunch.  No sense pushing things.  Grand Belle had fixed us bacon and egg sandwiches with cheese; they were on toasted white bread with mayonnaise and lettuce; we also had potato chips and pickles, milk to drink, and fresh oatmeal cookies for dessert.  Grand Belle drank tea from a blue patterned cup and saucer.  Not so long ago, when I’d addressed some questions about the Boston Tea Party to my Grandfather, he’d told me that the Dutch had actually invented tea, but that the lying English had stolen it.  In my Grandfather’s lexicon, English really meant, Enemy.  But despite these English machinations, tea was good.  I think Grand Belle would have enjoyed tea even if the treacherous English had invented it.  She was always cool and elegant.  During lunch she told us that she would be shopping during the afternoon.  Since grocery shopping had occurred yesterday after church, I knew that this would be shopping for clothes, or maybe a white sale – something boring anyway.  I did not volunteer to help, Johnny did however, but was told, “Thank you dear, but no, I’ll just be at the department store.”  Anyway, I’d mostly been speculating about Johnny’s last question before lunch.  I’d pretty much decided that the important thing was to get the “three” started on it, and then see what happened from there.  I didn’t contribute much to the conversation at lunch, but Johnny did: he updated us on the current condition of sea and beach, commented on the men fishing from the pier, remarked on the young men with their surfboards, and generally brought us abreast of these important world events. After lunch, we rinsed and stacked the dishes, took some more cookies, and went out to sit in the rocker on the front porch.  Awaiting events.  In the shade.

Grand Belle emerged on the porch, suitably equipped for shopping: summer dress with a muted floral pattern, hat, gloves, and handbag.  She looked at me expectantly, “We’ll be here or down at Johnny’s” I proffered the required information.  You can get a lot of liberty in your world, if you let authority think it knows where you are and what you are doing.  She smiled and nodded, talc and lilac, and went down to get in the taxicab which had arrived at precisely the right time.  Things like that always seemed to happen for Grand Belle.  We finished our cookies in companionable silence, hands on thighs – each other’s thighs.  Johnny reached under my cut offs and started tickling me.  I pressed my legs together, trapping his hand; he wasn’t really trapped, of course, but he pretended he was.  I ran my hand from under his cut offs, down to his knee and back.  You couldn’t see any of this from the street, not that there was any traffic to speak of, but because of the lilac bushes in front of porch.  They were large and well tended and came about head high when you were sitting in the rocker.  They had already flowered for the year and were a dense mass of green leaves.

“Charlie,” an instantly recognized voice hailed tentatively.

“Gary!”  I jumped-up and invited him onto the porch, “Come on up!”

And there he was, hair slightly awry, white t-shirt draped over his shoulder, razor creased dark green shorts, and barefoot.  Johnny stood up and I said, “Gary van der Leyden, this is my great friend Johnny MacCrimmon: Johnny, Gary.  I’ll get us some cokes,” and I banged off through the screen door on a mission of hospitality.  This took me a few minutes because I had to get the cokes out of the icebox in the kitchen, and then take them to the back porch where we had a bottle opener on the doorframe, then all the way back through the house to the front porch.  When I arrived, they were both sitting on the rocker facing each other and Gary was talking about the Navy.  I gave them each a coke.  I considered sitting down between them, but decided instead to drink my coke standing up with my butt against the porch rail.  The view was better from the rail, two handsome boys on a porch swing, ninety percent naked.  They were a beautiful contrast: blond hair and hazel eyes – black hair and blue eyes; smooth flesh and glorious tans.  I feasted on them silently, sipped my coke, and listened to Gary who was now talking about swimming.  I was poised, however, awaiting the moment.  Gary had offered that his Mother was at work so swimming was an option; Johnny had mentioned that his Mother was at work, so his house was an option. Gary looked at me, “Grand Belle’s gone to the department store, but I don’t know how long she’ll be gone.”  Authority was accounted for.

“So what’re we gonna do,” Johnny wondered.

“I think we should go to your house, Johnny, and play King.”  Like I said, I was poised.

“King?”  Gary wondered.

“Yeah.  It’s kinda like Indian,” I elaborated, “only different.”  I looked at Johnny, “Only this time, since Gary’s never played before, he should be the King and we’ll be his slaves and take care of him.”  Johnny smiled and nodded his head.

“All right,” Gary said, but looked a little unsure.  I had, after all, told him about the importance of the rules; but I think he was thinking that King was like Indian and that Indian meant naked – so, what the hell?

We were agreed.  I dashed back into the house, got a paper sack from under the sink, went out into the arbor and put several large bunches of grapes in it, came back to the front porch where they were waiting, and closed the front door carefully.  It was never locked, but needed to be closed, so that the neighbors would know that nobody was home.

We started down the street to Johnny’s.  There was one yard, on the way, that was not well kept, it wasn’t a desert or anything, but it certainly wasn’t Dutch.  From it I picked six or seven California poppies that were growing wild along the fence and put them with the grapes.  I had a boner when we got to Johnny’s.  I went right to the kitchen, took the poppies out of the sack and laid them on the table; I rinsed the grapes and put them in a bowl.  You’re supposed to rinse grapes and stuff from the garden before you eat them and mostly, I do.  I felt it was up to me to get things moving, so I kicked my cut offs onto the kitchen floor and went, woodie waving into the living room.  Gary and Johnny looked at me quietly.  I dragged a nice chair into the middle of the room and, nodding at Gary, said, “This’ll be your throne.”  I picked it because it had no arms.  “We need a cloak for him,” I told Johnny, and he disappeared on a costuming mission.  I walked over to Gary, kissed him, and said, “This is gonna be great.”  He was smiling, so I kissed him again.  I plucked his t-shirt off his shoulder and dropped it over my boner.  It made a front flap like in Indian only there was no belt, my boner stood-up through the material, and of course; it would only stay in place as long as you had a boner.  I felt Gary’s front and he had a boner too.  I got him out of his shorts and had him stand by the chair, stroking his pretty dick all the time.  He was grinning hugely.  His t-shirt fell off me onto the floor and I ignored it.  At about this time, Johnny came back with what looked like a light blue tablecloth with a leaf pattern around the edge.  “Excellent,” I approved, took it from him, and began to drape it properly over Gary.  I had not completely unfolded it, so as I put one part under his arm, and pulled the other two ends up over his shoulder it left his cock and balls completely exposed; but it dragged, I thought rather royally, down his side and onto the floor.  I had to rub up against him with my boner as I adjusted the folds.  Johnny was standing still, staring at us; I went over to him and licked one of his nipples as I helped him discard his cut offs.  As I started for the kitchen, Johnny told Gary that he should sit on his throne.  I got the poppies from the kitchen table and returned to see Johnny kneeling in front of Gary; he had placed Gary’s foot on his boner and was carefully massaging Johnny’s thigh with both hands. I carefully placed several poppies behind each of Gary’s ears, then stepped back to admire my masterpiece.

It was a great tableau if I do say so myself.  Gary was getting into the role.  He lay back in the chair, one hand dangling, the other gently stroking his cock; the blue tablecloth was a nice effect, it brought out the blue of his eyes, and the leaves made him look like the king in The Book of Knowledge.  His glorious sex and one nipple were exposed.  Somehow, though he was partially draped, this seemed to make him look even nakeder; the poppies were a beautiful contrast with his tan and his shining black hair.  Johnny, as was proper for a slave, was completely naked and kneeling before him rubbing Gary’s foot with his boner.  It was great!

“Johnny,” I said, thinking ahead, “Where’s the cold cream?”

“I’ll get it,” he jumped to his feet, but before he could leave, I pulled him into an embrace, right in front of the throne, kissed him deeply and rubbed our cocks together.  Gary sat up a little and stroked our flanks, one hand to each.  I left the kiss and stepped back a tiny bit.  “Cold cream,” I reminded.  But Gary had put one hand on each of our dicks, so we had to let him rub us for a few seconds, then I gently pushed Johnny toward the hall, grinned at Gary, promising, “Right back.”  I went toward the kitchen, but paused in the doorway and struck a couple of poses that emphasized my ass, which by the way, was starting to feel all tingly.  Quickly, I got the bowl of grapes and returned.  Gary had a huge smile as I came up to the throne; I put the grape bowl on the floor beside his throne and while bending over him, went down on him, tonguing his woodie thoroughly.  While down on him, I plucked a couple of grapes and then stood up and ran a grape up and down my cock, and then up and down his, then put it in his mouth.  He just said, “mmmmmhhh.”  I did it again.  Several times.  Gary leaned forward and took me in his mouth and he did that thing with his tongue on my slit that I really like.  Johnny came back with the jar of cold cream in his hand and watched us for a moment.  He bent to put the cold cream down but dropped the jar the last few inches and it rolled along the carpet.  I had some grapes in my hand and ran one along my cock and Gary’s lips, then along Gary’s cock, and then inserted it into Johnny’s mouth.  Johnny was standing right next to me, woodie alert and straining, so Gary released me and swallowed Johnny.  It was great to watch all this, so I rubbed some grapes over all three dicks and then ate them all myself.  I knelt down beside the throne, stuck my head in Gary’s lap, took him into my mouth doing the tongue thing, and then swallowed him all.  I bobbed up and down on Gary and, sometimes, the top of my head would touch Johnny’s sac as Gary sucked on him.  Johnny stepped out of Gary’s mouth and knelt on the other side of the chair, he grabbed my dick under the chair and stroked, he nuzzled my head with his.  I released Gary and we kissed and Frenched with Gary’s cock between us rubbing on our cheeks and lips as we kissed through it.  I stroked Johnny like he was stroking me.  When we broke the kiss, Gary’s dick slapped wetly on his stomach.  We both started licking it, one on each side.  Sometimes one of us would take Gary’s tip into his mouth and suck, while the other licked his shaft and his balls, then we’d trade positions and continue the work.  We were very creditable slaves taking very good care of the King.

Gary was having a great time, his eyes were closed but his tongue was mostly out, and he was moaning and twisting happily on his throne, going: “Ummh.  Unnh.  God.  Yes!”  And all sorta stuff like that.  I didn’t want to stop anything that I was doing, but I wanted to work on what I had tried yesterday.  I couldn’t seem to find the cold cream, I let go of Johnny and tried to find it, fumbling around with both hands while still licking and sucking.  I couldn’t find it, so I gave Gary to Johnny, scrambled around and got the damn cold cream and standing up by the chair, I opened the cream and dipped a huge dollop of cream on my fingers which I smeared all up and down the crack of my butt.  Johnny was really going to town on Gary and I was afraid he was gonna cum too soon; I got another smear of cream on my fingers and sorta pushed Johnny off saying, “I need ta sit on his lap.”  Johnny sat back with a blank look on his wonderful face.  As he sat back a little trail of goo stretched from Gary’s cock to Johnny’s mouth and then broke.  I slathered the lotion onto Gary’s boner and swung over his lap fitting his cock into the crack of my butt.  I got it positioned just over my hole and started to take the tip into me.  I concentrated on flexing my hole over his boner.  My butt was really tingly and I wondered if I could do this.  I worked his tip in and out a little.  It didn’t hurt and it was something I wanted to do.  Then there came a second when everything was in exactly the right position, our body movements were right, the cream had oiled us just right, I was flexing right, and Gary slid deep into me.  I really gasped and I froze, there, impaled on his boner, lying across his chest.  It hurt.  But I could also feel him deep in me and he was touching something that was giving me waves of pleasure.  It was almost as good as cuming.  I moved very gently on his boner and it felt better and better.  Johnny had regained his composure, and he moved around on his knees until he was between our legs and took me deep into his mouth and throat.  He bobbed up and down a couple of times and that was it!  I blasted cum down his throat with the most intense pleasure I’d ever experienced.  While I was cuming, all of my spasms, twitchings, and flexing had worked Gary all the way into me, he groaned in my ear and came up my butt.  I clutched the bottom of the chair and held him deeply in place.  Johnny continued to suck on me until there was no more cum and I was mostly soft.At length, Johnny sat back and looked up at us with his great smile, all sexy with his lips glowing and some of his teeth showing. I caught his head with my hands and played with his ears, his hair, his cheeks, his nose. Everything in reach.  I was soft, and Gary was growing softer in me, slowly sliding out.  I would flex a little and it felt like he was sliding further out, but maybe it was just his cum and all of the lotion in my butt that made it feel this way.  I knew that it felt great, but I was a little sore and tingly.

“Will ya do me tomorrow,” I asked Johnny.  I nodded his head for him as I was till playing with him and he grinned even wider.  I felt Gary slide out of me though I still could feel his sex with the cheeks of my butt.  I kinda turned my head back and told Gary, “Johnny needs to cum.”  We slid off the chair onto the floor on either side of Johnny and gently laid him on his back on the carpet.  His boner was awesome.  Gary and I went to work on it the way Johnny and I had earlier worked on Gary, switching off on his shaft and the tip; but Gary seemed to want the whole thing.  I figured he wanted to swallow, so I left him to it and moved up Johnny’s chest and worked on his nipples.  I also Frenched him and sucked on his tongue which he pushed into my mouth much like he was pushing his cock into Gary’s mouth.  This couldn’t last long.  Suddenly he lifted his ass off the floor, like he wanted to thrust his boner completely through Gary as he came.  He shuddered and moaned.  I petted him and Gary kept him deeply throated and held him as he relaxed onto the rug.

Spent, we sprawled on and around each other for a few minutes.  Gary piped-up, “Let’s go swimming.”  So we restored the throne room to it’s regular status, removed poppies, grape stems, cold cream and all, and trooped off to Gary’s.  Johnny met Miss Jean, and we spent the remnants of the afternoon skinny dipping or laying in the sun.  Mostly I dozed, and let Johnny and Gary talk about all manner of things, so they could put the seal of friendship on the joy of sex.

 

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