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Stefan’s eyes clamp shut and he growls, whimpering again, unable to control the reaction he has to my working of his clearly sensitive nipples.
“Looks like I just found your Achilles heel,” I mutter with a smug grin.
Stefan grabs my hair, peels my head back, then assaults my mouth with his. I would fall right off this tree if it weren’t for his firm hold on me like I’m his prized possession. His tight grip on my hair is such an unexpected turn-on that I find myself pinching and twisting his nipples at once, which makes him murder my mouth even more.
When he starts stroking again, it sends me right to the edge.
Another twist of his nipples, and the whimper he gives nearly sounds like a sob. He’s putty in my hands, and I’m a toy in his.
I reach the brink of no return. Without warning, my mouth flies open and I holler out. Shot after shot of warm, white cum empties all over his hand, over our clothes, and rains down below.
That’s right. It’s raining cum in Terry Park.
My release has me melting onto Stefan’s body, limp and utterly spent. He holds me there, not letting me fall, and in his embrace, I slowly regain my calm and my breath.
There’s nowhere I feel safer than in Stefan’s embrace. Oddly, I catch myself realizing that this has been a fact since we were two bumbling teens in Little League. Whenever he hugged me after a game, I felt safe, like I belonged. In fact, it became commonplace for us to hug, even when I was just coming over to his house to play some Xbox. He’d greet me at the door, give me half a hug—or, if I was lucky, a full one—and I’d feel like everything was perfectly in its right place.
That feeling has never changed, even after all these years. In Stefan’s arms, I’m always a part of the team.
After our little tryst up the tree, we snatch up the backpack from the bridge and continue on our way down the path beyond the bridge. We didn’t see any sign of the water moccasin after that first panic when we fell in the creek together, which is as much of a relief as it is unsettling. Where did the little guy go?
“Probably grossed him out with all our hanky-panky up in the branches,” I tell Stefan.
He chuckles at that. “Yeah. I’m pretty sure that snake was a homophobe.”
I smirk and shake my head as we keep strolling through the woods. I probably have a cum stain on my shorts. Stefan’s are so dark that you can’t even tell they’re still wet from our plunge in the less-than-favorable waters of Terry Creek. The rest of the woods seems less scary, though now after the encounter with the snake, I’m legitimately checking my feet for them.
We happen on a small clearing in which there’s a big, pretty gazebo with benches lining the outside. We walk up the steps and enjoy the shade underneath, where we pull out a bag of sandwiches and a couple beers from his backpack, then chow down.
Moments later, the bag is empty and abandoned at our sides, and we’re lying down next to each other on our backs in the center of the shaded gazebo’s huge octagonal wooden floor, our heads touching.
“Literally haven’t seen a soul,” I point out. Again. “Not one. I’m convinced this park isn’t even open to the public anymore and we’re just trespassing. Everything’s all overgrown and—”
“Do you think I’m a homophobe?”
The question catches me so off-guard, I stare at the ceiling with my mouth parted for a solid ten seconds, unable to even form any words.
“Seriously,” he says, talking to the ceiling of the gazebo. “I mean, I’ve been fine with you since … ever. I have feelings for you, Ryan. I never cared that you’re gay.”
“But?”
“Why can’t I stomach the idea of associating myself with that word? The thought is frustrating. Angering, even. I don’t identify with it. I’m not like any other gay guys I’ve met, but I know I’m not like my straight buddies, either. I’ve known it for some time, even if I couldn’t put a name to it. And also considering that I’ve had and enjoyed sex with women …”
“So what’s wrong with identifying as bisexual?”
“Because it doesn’t feel right either,” he argues. “I don’t check dudes out. Unless I have some close connection with them, I feel nothing like I do with you.”
I incline my head slightly, catching what he just said. “You mean you’ve felt this way with another guy before?”
“No. Not really. But …” He shrugs. “I guess there was this one guy in my fraternity back in college. Whenever we played pool, he would get all competitive and funny, just like you do. And he’d make this face …” Stefan chuckles, as if he’s remembering it. His chuckles are short-lived. “The face he made reminded me of you.”
