Playing with Matches

"Rick's boss owns two workout clubs," Tod said, "one of which Rick manages."

"I bet," Cole said, not quite believing it. If so, Cole's thoughts went on, that man must really trust Rick to lend him his yacht. "Is Jennifer your girlfriend, too?"

"In a manner of speaking," Tod said.

Was Jennifer hiding inside the boat? Cole wondered. If so, how could she? After all, Jennifer was not the kind of chick to "betray one of her sisters." If Jennifer wasn't aboard, however, what was Tod doing there? Did he plan to cheat on his girlfriend? If so, with whom?

Someone clapped once.

Cole quailed.

Rick walked a slow half-circle toward the front of the white chaise longues. "Are you tigers ready to rock 'n roll?"

Cole caught his breath. "What are we gonna do?"

Rick stopped in front of the white deck chairs. "In a nutshell? Tod is going to suck our dicks. Then, we're going to fuck his ass."

Cole's jaw dropped as if to small weights.

"It's alright," Rick said. "You can watch if you feel guilty about participating—although I assure you, once you see Tod's butt, you're going to want to go all the way."

"You brought no babes?" Cole said in disbelief.

"I would have," Rick said. "But you stressed that you wouldn't have sex with a woman, other than your wife. I thought you were serious."

Cole rose to his black flip-flops; he shook his head; and he ankled past Rick. Cole turned back to the front of the vessel. "You gotta be kiddin'."

"About fucking Tod?" Rick said. "I mean every word. You want me to prove it to you?"

Cole's wad stiffened, and this scared the jeebees out of him. For the first time in his life, Cole dared not speak.

"Three months," Rick said. "Are you prepared to go another three months without sex?"

How Cole wanted to say no.

"If you prefer, you can jerk off to our action," Rick said. "That's not cheating, is it?"

"I … I guess …" If only Cole could get his legs to stop shaking. "I guess not."

"Then, we're set," Rick said. He turned his slender physique toward Tod's lithe one.

Tod rose from his white deck chair and pulled off his jade polo shirt. Tod!

Rick undid the white buttons of his executive shirt of wine. He inched toward Tod and became an inch taller than 5' 10" Tod. Against Tod's bared pecs, Rick pressed his outlined pecs.

Cole felt as if he were watching a college graduate sit on the butt of a high school sophomore.

Tod and Rick puckered their lips. Their lips touched like clinking goblets, and the guys sipped from each fold as if sweet sap were to be extracted. In the process, Tod and Rick sounded like they were sucking from the same lollipop.

Spellbound, Cole's eyes froze on boyish-faced Tod and on preppy-faced Rick.

Rick unpasted his strong lips from Tod's soft ones. This made the sound of a cork popping off a bottle from under a pillow. Rick slipped down and sucked one of Tod's erect teats.

Tod leaned his soft neck back.

Cole could not believe his eyes! Here were two fellows, giving and sucking breast the way a woman and a man made love.

Over Tod's fledgling pec, Rick's head gyrated like a spinning top.

Tod's fingers winded over the dark crown of Rick's noggin.

Cole's pubes began to pull painfully. He, however, refused to unzip his mahogany knee pants of corduroy. Instead, Cole hollered. "Guys!"

Rick unglued his lips from Tod's engorged nipple. A little out of balance, Rick rose back up.

Tod's hand fell off Rick's short, front-combed hair of coffee bean brown.

Rick turned his groovy body right. "You're not getting cold, are you?"

How could Cole possibly answer? If he admitted his excitement, then Tod and Rick would see Cole as queer-in-the-making and do who knew what to him. Cole might even have to jump overboard. Conversely, if Cole took the high ground, then Tod and Rick would resume their insanity—just to break Cole's resistance. "It's June," Cole said. "Of course, I'm not cold."

"You're right," Rick pattered. "Let's get some drinks."

Cole didn't even shift his weight.

Tod, however, marched to a redwood door—one with a circle window at the top-center, a scarlet curtain of taffeta behind the glass, and a yellow-white light behind the curtain. Tod pulled the door open, traipsed into the yacht, and left the reddish door ajar.

Seldom had Cole felt so disappointed—especially, by a dude who had not only respected Cole's heterosexuality but also given every indication of being straight himself. Why, Cole wondered, had Tod let him down?

With his sharp nose, Rick pointed toward the reddish door.

Cole's groin felt like a volcano about to erupt.

* * * *

Rick didn't untie his dully shined black shoes. He simply slid off them and stayed in his white socks of cotton. Rick padded away from the light-brown counter—one with a board-shaped cushion of maize around it—and handed Cole a round glass of cider.

Cole took the thing.

Rick returned to the front of the wet bar and poured from the decanter into another glass.

The downpour sounded like a small fountain.

Rick passed Tod the second glass.

Tod clutched the square thing. He hobbled toward the davenport parallel to the wet bar like a boy afraid of spilling a glass of orange juice before his father. Tod sat on the beige davenport, and the buckskin cushions twanged softly.

Rick served himself cider, and the three chugged like steam engines snorting to a lever being stepped upon. In a slice of a minute, the young men lowered their raised faces and ahed like camels who had drunk from buckets.

Cole hadn't realized that he was so thirsty. Now, the cold beverage loosened up some strings in him.

Rick set his square glass on the bar counter of oakwood. "Help me untie his sneakers."

The rawness of doing that gave Cole a boner.

Rick knelt on the Berber rug of yellow.

Tod lay back on the beige cushions of the davenport.

Rick unlaced Tod's white basketball sneakers.

"That's it," Tod said. "Get me naked."

"You bet I will," Rick grizzled. "Just wait till Cole sees your bikinis."

Rick couldn't be for real, Cole thought.

Rick turned his baby blues right. "Are you going to stand there like a sentry?"

Cole set his round glass by the black mini-fridge and knelt beside Rick. With trepidation, Cole hoisted Tod's other white sneaker.

The sight and feel of Tod's basketball sneakers accentuated for Cole one key difference between men and women. Tod's white sneakers looked soiled, as opposed to the spotless ballerina shoes of various colors that Cole's wife liked to wear.

The teen dirtiness of Tod's white basketball sneakers aroused Cole like nothing up to then. This surprised Cole.

Against the silence, Tod's white shoelaces tinkled like raindrops on a canvass. Tod whiffed like a cub, and Rick's joints clunked like popcorn. The enclosed environment, in turn, amplified the sounds.

Cole found himself becoming dazed with the sensuousness of it all.

Rick and Cole pulled off Tod's white basketball sneakers.

"Oh, yes," Tod whispered.

Tod's white socks of cotton ruffled the smattering of dark hairs on Rick and Cole's forearms.

Roused with desire, Rick planted a kiss on one of Tod's white socks. Rick shucked the cotton off.

"Uh," Tod said. His juvenile voice sounded like the plastic wheels of a tricycle bowling over a rug.

Tod's calf felt like a ripe papaya.

Cole, however, held the calf as though it were a water pipe. The handyman started to get the lesson: Guys with ship shrouds and ratlines outlined across their abs had tender spots as well. Cole needn't hold Tod's calf that firmly.

Cole compared Tod's soft muscles with Tod's supple sole—that is, the one Rick had bared on the left. Something about this combination led Cole's heart to beat harder.

Cole zeroed his oval eyes on Tod's sockless sole. It was the hue of a batter of regular pancakes.

On his side, Cole peeled off Tod's remaining white sock of cotton. Suddenly, Cole pecked the underside of Tod's tootsie with a kiss.

Cole's act shocked him.

Rick, however, said, "There you go."

Tod's purr sounded like a coupé swooshing along a distant highway.

Never had Cole felt so gay. Intensifying that feeling was the smell of laundry detergent on Tod's sole. Similarly, the lower deck of the yacht exuded the scent of the inside of a new car. All of this contributed to the atmosphere of maleness.

Rick stomped to his white socks of cotton. "Let's bare faggy's waist."

Tod unbuttoned his pale blue jeans and unzipped their golden zipper.

Rick ordered, "Grab that side, Cole."

Cole stood up slowly. He pulled Tod's bleached jeans down on the right.

Rick pulled the bleached jeans down on the left.

Tod's blue jeans shook and sounded like a heavy blanket.

What Cole saw took moments to sink in. Tod was wearing pearl-white panties—not bikinis, but panties—silk and all! The panties had tiny ladybugs printed all over and sparkled as if suffused with moonlight from within. The sugary grains on the surface of the white panties reflected the yellow-white lights of the room.

Cole's cock was so hard that it bent from lack of room inside his corduroys. Cole had no choice. He unzipped his mahogany knee pants.

Rick peeked right. "I told you you'd get excited." Rick undid his black pants of polyester. In a guiding gesture, he extended his left palm toward Tod's underwear. "Do you want to help me with the honors?"

Cole glanced at the liquid silk of Tod's pearl-white panties. Cole was fast approaching fright of what would become of him if he touched them. Yet, part of Cole hankered to descend into abandon. Ready or not, Cole reached for the thin waistband.

The texture zapped Cole's fingers like the quills of a porcupine.

Cole shogged back like a lynx.

"Talk about chemistry," Rick said.

Cole's eyes danced over Tod's undies. They were so crisp-white. Cole couldn't get off his mind how awestruck he felt perceiving the sexiness of panties on a dude. How, Cole thought, could queer stuff incite a straight guy?

Pensively, Cole turned his eyes toward the scarlet curtain of the entrance door.

"Holy mackerel!" Rick said. "Look at Tod!"

Cole flashed his eyes back left.

Tod's hard-on was cast in relief under the pearl-white silk. His dick was the trunk of a super mushroom—its head, a pearl onion. As if that weren't enough, a wet stain dabbed the front of Tod's whities.

"What a fairy," Rick said, sputtering venomously on the f. "Let's rip off his panties!"

Cole watched.

Rick clawed the shiny fabric.

Shredding sounds ripped through the lower deck like a swarm of crows. Tod's seven-incher broke free, its prepuce raw chicken skin pulled back. Unabashedly, Tod sipped cider.

"Nuh-uh!" Rick said, snatching Tod's square glass. "You're going to put the real thing in your mouth."

Tod knelt on the Berber rug of yellow. Rick, in turn, set the square glass on the light-brown counter behind him.

"Get ready, Cole," Rick said. "Tod is going to suck our wieners."

Rick might as well have said, Tod is going to serve us coffee. How, Cole thought, could Rick be so smooth?

Rick jerked down his black pants of polyester and white briefs of cotton.

Cole glinted through the corner of an eye. Not since high school had he felt the urge to measure the size of another guy's prick.

Rick's member was big as a banana, and it dangled as such. Its pinkish foreskin had the wrinkles of a batter of corn bread piling up to a pour from above.

The similarity with Cole's cock was amazing. Bubbles sizzled inside Cole's testicles like the eyes of water warming up toward a boil.

Rick glowered at Tod. "You better lather our stiffies well, blondie."

The meanness of those words stuck to Cole like white glue from a spitting bottle. Cole felt so much concupiscence, however, that he hoicked down his mahogany shorts of corduroy and white briefs of cotton.

Rick shoved his dick into Tod's mouth.

Tod scarfed Rick's frankfurter as though it were laced with pickles, chopped onions, and ketchup.

"Holy fuck!" Rick said.

Tod tightened his wet lips along the base of Rick's penis.

"Look at the sissy!" Rick exclaimed. "He wants cock bad."

On the way to the top, Tod's lips slowed like the wagon car of a roller coaster. Then, Tod sped toward the base of Rick's frank.

"Uh, that feels good," Rick grunted. He gripped the hair wisps of ash-blond atop the "boy's haircut" of Tod.

Tod's upper body jounced like the blades of a washing machine on wash cycle.

To and fro, Rick pulled Tod's blondish hair.

With increasing loudness, Tod slurped Rick's hot dog.

Rick spoke in crescendo. "You like my sausage?"

Tod bobbed his noggin.

"Then, suck my willy like the pouf you are!"

Tod's svelte torso kept swaying like a rocking chair.

In what seemed to be fast-rewind, Tod moved his face cave away from Rick's wiener.

"What the hell?" Rick said.

Tod's hazel irises matched the color of the trimmed edges of his dishwater-blond hair. Now, his eyes of gelatin looked at Rick with the innocence of a lad, and Tod begged for further instructions.

With his squarish chin, Rick signaled toward Cole.

Tod's large pupils dilated more. Tod inched toward Cole's erection and fisted a hand around its tawny foreskin.

Cole's prepuce rolled back like clay spinning on a potter's wheel. "Sheesh," Cole said.

Tod licked Cole's frenulum.

"No fuckin' way!" Cole groaned.

Along Cole's glans, Tod lapped the tip of his tongue up, down, and in circles.

"Fuckin' A," Cole said.

Tod sucked the head of Cole's cock as though it were a pom-pom. With each suck, Tod descended further down the peter.

"This is unreal!" Cole said huskily. As he recalled, his wife never let him bring home dirty magazines. What would Sheena say if she caught Tod and Cole in the middle of this?

Tod sucked Cole's wad roughly—in and out, up and down.

Cole jolted repeatedly—as if he were on a speeding train. "Jesus!"

Tod's head kept jerking back and forth.

Cole heaved, "If you keep this up, you're gonna … suck out … ma

sem—"

Tod withdrew fast as a falling house of cards.

"You're lucky you pulled out," Rick said. "Otherwise, you would've had

it for churning out Cole's jism prematurely."

Tod threw Rick a fierce stare.

Swift as an eagle, Tod sucked Cole's balls.

"No fuckin' way!" Cole said.

Tod bit around the base of Cole's sperm sack—not too hard, not too soft.

Cole had never experienced acupuncture of this sort. Not only that. A dude was needling Cole's pressure points—not a babe. Tod's expertise was legendary! How, Cole wondered, was this possible?

Tod's head almost pulverized in returning to Rick's dick.

Cole's chestnuts ached for more, and Cole felt a rush of anger.

Tod, however, was busy trailing his peach tongue around Rick's cream cock.

"That's right," Rick said. "Get me ready for the main course."

Get you ready? Cole grated upstairs. Is Rick that selfish? Suddenly, Cole felt guilt about what he wanted to try.

Rick reached down and slapped Tod's behind.

Tod mmmed.

Rick kneaded Tod's rumps. With his middle finger, Rick goosed the top of the grapnel lines that contoured Tod's nates.

Tod ahed as if taking a piss with a full bladder.

"You like being pried up your butt?" Rick said.

Tod nodded tipsily.

"Good," Rick said. "Because your rear end is due for a serious ramming." Rick dug his middle finger deeper into Tod's haunches.

So filled Tod became with letch that he jammed Rick and Cole's dicks into his mouth.

"Fuckin' nay!" Cole said.

"Fucking yay!" Rick countered. He straightened his back.

Tod tried to devour the V of cocks that converged in his mouth. At most, he got them halfway in. Tod hummed in rising pitches, desperate to swallow every jot of beef and vein. There was no question that had the cucumbers been flaccid, Tod would have been able to bunch the inside of his cheeks with much more of them.

Rick's prick rubbed warmly against the left side of Cole's dick. This added to the intensity of Tod's mouth.

Cole couldn't believe the sensuality of this.

Tod let Rick and Cole's peckers drop from his mouth.

Rick turned his sinewy body toward Cole. "Face me, Cole buddy."

Cole could scarcely keep tabs on the twists and turns of this game. "What?"

"I want to show you something," Rick said.

Cole rotated his wiry body left.

Rick moved his woody closer to Cole's. Rick clutched Cole's rager as though it were a cow tit and wrapped both dicks in his hand.

The feel of Rick's shaft pressing against Cole's was awesome!

With his fist, Rick started to pump the cocks.

"Unfuckin' believable!" Cole uttered.

Rick beat their meats harder.

Cole threw his oval eyes back.

The indented light of yellow-white on top, however, forced Cole to squint toward the portholes.

The portholes stared at Cole with the eyes of his mother, father, and elder brother—eyes dark, vengeful, and impatient.

Again, Cole shifted his line of vision.

The warmth and strength of Rick's fist was fast becoming too much to take. At one point, Cole almost tore himself away, for he thought that he was about to pull his groin. The feeling was simply too intense—not just physically, but also, psychologically.

Seminal fluid oozed from Rick's piss slit onto Cole's. The sticky substance mixed with Tod's leftover saliva and slicked Rick's hand.

"Man!" Cole said. He pulled off his white tank top of cotton.

Cole literally felt the black cross on the side of his left bicep.

Rick stopped jerking off the both of them. "Nice piece of art you got there."

"My big brother gave me this tattoo when I turned 17," Cole said.

Rick flipped back his open shirt of wine, and the executive shirt hit the Berber rug of yellow.

Cole's head kept spinning.

"I think it's time we put our cocks to maximum use," Rick said. He threw Tod a wicked side-glance.

A kneeling Tod looked up at Rick with the orbs of a bimbo.

Rick grouched, "Bend over, fruit."

Tod crouched over the front cushion of the beige davenport.

Rick turned to Cole's right and knelt behind Tod. "Let's see the inside of your hind tits," Rick said. He spread Tod's butt cheeks.

The curled pubes of Tod's derriere were caramel. The skin near his anus was rosy and shaped like the wings of a butterfly. This contrasted with the peach-hued flesh further out.

At once, Rick showered the inside of Tod's cleavage with kisses. Rick shifted between the inside of Tod's right buttock and the inside of Tod's left buttock. Each smooch sounded like Rick was chewing with his lips open.

This is playin' with matches, Cole told himself.

Rick buried his elegant nose into Tod's tush as deeply as he could. Rick quaked his head to stimulate the area and tongued an & around Tod's rosebud.

How, Cole wondered, could Rick not care about catching Tod's germs?

Dragging his tongue south to north, Rick ahed as if to a tongue depressor.

Tod twisted his dishy neck back, and he exhaled softly.

With his tongue, Rick poked the epicenter of Tod's anus.

"Take it easy!" Cole protested. "His ass is not a pussy."

Rick turned his bedroom eyes right. "You're right." He got up. "But nothing beats the taste of Tod's ass." Rick paced to the breakfront of shellacked wood. He yanked open a drawer, reached inside, and tossed Tod a round jar of blue.

Tod caught the plastic item, turned open its white lid, and scooped up a bit of lube. Then, Tod smeared some silver gel onto his puckered hole of pink.

Cole stepped back in fright, for the lusciousness of Tod's nates was too much to process.