Göran Wayward Island (Part 15) How Tom hosted a Valentine's Day dance and a good time was had by all By Jake Preston
Reader restrictions: no minors, no readers who are offended by explicit descriptions of gay sexuality. The story as a whole is a psychological study of gay athletic hunks who love nerds, and the nerds who love them in return. The story also deals with the problems faced by gay guys who live in rural areas. If these themes don't interest you, there are many other great "nifty" stories to choose from. Send comments and suggestions to jemtling@gmail.com. Jake will respond to all sincere correspondents.
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When a shepherd loses a lamb from his flock, he searches the wilderness until he finds it. He rejoices more in the lamb that was found than in ninety-nine sheep that never left the fold. Reverend Billy White Cloud could have said it better, but that's what I learned from the Valentine's Day dance at Wayward Island Resort.
The ARCH Triangle teens looked forward to the Valentine dance. February 14th fell on Friday, so we could make a late night of it. The Hibbing- Mountain Iron hockey game, a traditional rivalry, was played in Mountain Iron on Thursday. When I showed up with Red Feather, we saw Sam Black Bear, Ben Hasek, Randy, Billy White Cloud, and Tom in the stands. Göran Svenson, Kelly, and Donna were seated with them. Kevin Carlson and Jonathan Gabrielli were there, too. To our surprise when we looked closer, almost all the ARCH Triangle teens were there. Unbeknownst to me, Red Hawk had emailed an invitation to form a Bluejackets cheering section, so the clan gathered. A quarter of the Hibbing fans were members were FOT: From Our Tribe.
We cheered Hibbing to a last-minute victory, clinched 7 to 6 in sudden- death overtime when Henry drove into the offense zone at the left, pivoted back, and in the confusion slammed the puck past the goalie. "Deke! Deke! Deke!" the Hibbing fans chanted. The Mountain Iron coach protested that Henry was offside: he claimed that one of Henry's crossed the red line into offence ahead of the puck). The referee didn't agree. With the limelight on Henry's "decoy" maneuvers-which earned him the nickname Deke-Göran Svenson was one of few fans who noticed that the puck had been passed to Henry by Drew, who circumvented Iron Mountain's three-man defense and set Henry up for a "dump and chase." The Bluejackets risked playing "sudden death" without a goalie, by allowing Drew into play as an "extra attacker." Their success was not serendipitous. For hours in the past, the team had rehearsed this tactic, which depended as much on Drew's aggressive speed as on Henry's unconventional skills as a figure-skater.
The presence of ARCH Triangle fans did not go unnoticed by Henry and his gay-friendly teammates: Drew Fox (goalie turned 'extra attacker'), Jim Savonen and Bob Wojikowski (defensive players), and Richard Beck (a forward, like Henry). After the game, when they came back to earth wearing shoes, they joined ARCH Triangle in the stands and thanked the teens for their support. "It made a difference, Wojikowski said. "It means a lot to us," Richard Beck chimed in. "Would it be OK for us to bring our girlfriends to the Valentine's dance?" Richard asked. Several teens said yes. No one objected.
No one knew at the time, but one of the spectators was the Bemidji State College hockey coach. He asked for a meeting with Henry and Drew, together with their parents if that was possible. Drew's folks were there, and Ben Hasek, so they formed a group of six at a coffee shop downtown. They talked about Henry's and Drew's academics, Henry's status as a junior, and Drew's as a graduating senior. The coach offered Drew a four-year hockey scholarship. "Next year at this time, you'll be getting the same offer, Henry," he said. Drew had applied to UMD and the Main U, and Wisconsin, but hadn't applied to Bemidji. "No problem," the coach said. "I've got an application form with me, and a scholarship contract. We can go through the paperwork now, or we can wait until you're ready."
"Can I talk to Drew alone?" Henry asked. They went to a table on the far end of the coffee shop. "Do it now, Drew. Make the switch," he said. He whispered something private, intended for Drew's ears only. Drew huddled with his Mom and Dad. They spent the rest of their time with Coach, filling out papers and signing them. Before he left, Coach invited the boys and their parents to visit Bemidji. He gave them his business cards. "I'll show you around campus personally," he said.
The next day (Friday), the Valentine's dance started at eight. Tom loaded a table with snacks and soft drinks. "Ladies and gentlemen, the bar is closed," he said, "but everything else in the lodge is open." One of the boys from Hibbing-I think it was Kevin-brought a copy of the Hibbing Daily Tribune, which featured a front-page picture of Henry pivoting on ice while he slammed his hockey-stick toward the goal. "Henry Hasek's Valentine's Gift to Hibbing," the caption read. It was another tribute to Henry, who did not welcome the hyperbole.
Mrs. Ravitch, Kelly, and Donna took charge of decorations. Instead of conventional hearts and cupids, they set up a makeshift gallery of Mrs. Ravitch's paintings and sketches: mostly male nudes, but she had some female nudes from her earlier years as an artist, and included them too. If she had spent the evening lecturing about the paintings, the teens wouldn't have objected, but she said, "That's for another time, if you want. Tonight we have Red Feather's music, and dance." Red Feather started the evening with a medley of highlights from Mozart's piano concertos. Drums and cymbals, positioned near the piano, promised dance music after the ARCH Triangle business meeting.
Henry and Keith Olson (the VP) led the business meeting. They distributed copies of a draft constitution that they had prepared by collating the emails and hard-copies sent to them by the teens. A half-hour later they voted to approve their constitution. The meeting's end was announced by Bob Seger's "Old Time Rock'n'Roll": Red Feather belted out the lyrics while he played the piano. Jim Savonen set the beat on his drums. A rendition of "Cold Hands Boogie" followed, and Nirvana's "Smells Like a Teen Saint," and Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Freebird." Red Feather adapted Black Sabbath's "Iron Man" to piano, and Jimmi Hendrix's "Purple Haze." Everyone twisted to the Beatles' "Twist and Shout." Red Feather and Jim played recorded music, too, for variety and to give themselves a break.
Most of the teens came in groups, but some came as couples: Kevin Carlson and Jonathan Gabrielli, both from Hibbing; Kelly with a new girl named Sara. Vic came with Henry: he had scored big-time on his ass after the skating- party. Red Hawk had asked Keith Olson for a date, their first time together. That would have been a hot story, if I knew anything about it! But who can keep track of such a lively bunch? Jim Savonen, Bob Wojikowski and Richard Beck, gay- friendly teammates from Hibbing, came with their girlfriends.
Last but not least, Drew Fox came with Göran Svenson. They arrived late. Drew looked sheepish. He shied away from his straight teammates, whose number, evidently, was reduced to three. "Would you look at that!" Kevin whispered to Jonathan. Drew explained that he got lost on country roads while trying to find Göran's farm. He looked rather lost in the lodge, too, until Göran suggested that they dance with the girls.
Were Drew and Göran dating? That was a mystery that Drew could not, and Göran would not reveal. Until February in his senior year, Drew never thought of himself as gay. As one of the varsity starters during his junior year, he became one of the "popular kids" at school. At five-foot-eleven he was a good- looking athlete, with brown eyes that complimented unruly bangs of dark brown hair, not to mention a promising basket that girls pretended not to notice and boys eyed with comparative envy. He started dating girls, but none of his hetero relationships rose to the level of romance. He liked girls well enough, but he didn't want to get tied down to anyone. During his senior year, he watched Henry go through the same experience as a junior: another popular guy dating girls in relationships that never led to "going steady." Drew's male friends were teammates. Hockey was the bond that kept them together. During hockey season, when Henry Hasek established his reputation as the team's star forward, he never got jealous. Quite the opposite: In interviews with sports reporters, Henry always praised his teammates and rehearsed their contributions to a hockey game in detail-a sign that Henry was always alert to what was happening on the ice. And Henry went out of his way to praise the goalie. If someone had asked Drew who was his "best" friend, he would have named Henry. He heard the rumors about Henry, and he saw Henry's Dad in the stands with Sam Black Bear and Red Hawk, but he never joined in the gossip about them. When Henry was summoned to Juvenile Court for beating up two bullies who gay-bashed Kevin, it was Drew who told his teammates that they should show up in court to give moral support. It was Drew who insisted that Henry was a hero because he took a stand against bullying in school. "Varsity hockey is the strength of the student body," he would say. "We're so tough that we don't need to beat up on younger guys to prove anything. It's the duty of varsity guys to defend guys who can't defend themselves." This theme took hold. It was Drew, not Henry, who established a positive atmosphere in the school.
Even before the cause célèbre with Deputy Nelson in Ashawa, Drew knew that Henry was gay, not because of gossip, but because he knew Henry. This knowledge did not repel him; it drew the boys closer. At Mrs. Ravitch's home in Hibbing, when Drew attended the first meeting of ARCH Triangle, he went to support Henry. It didn't matter to him if ARCH Triangle was a gay club or not. The three unquestionably straight teammates came as an act of solidarity with both Henry and Drew. He was surprised to find Mrs. Ravitch's home loaded with paintings, sketches, and photos. It confirmed what he had heard, that Mrs. Ravitch was a specialist in the art of portraying male nudes. The ambiance had a thoughtful depth that appealed to him. Her pictures brought him comfort, thought he didn't understand why. He was the first of the "gay-friendlies" to sign up as a charter member of ARCH Triangle.
Then came the skating party at my cabin. Drew first met Göran Svenson on the ice, during my figure-skating demo. This six-foot-tall, blond, blue-eyed farmboy, slender but still a hunk, attracted Drew for his laid-back demeanor and the uncompromising masculinity of his figure and good looks. It was obvious to Drew that Göran had a big heart and was open to friendship-not the boisterous "iron man" bonding of hockey teammates, but a quiet friendship reserved for two.
Göran knocked the wind out of Drew. This Swedish hunk didn't fit the gay stereotype, but neither did Henry. Were it not for the gay context of ARCH Triangle, no one would have guessed that Göran was gay, something this strapping farmboy would neither confirm nor deny. As for himself, gay or straight?-Drew was on the fence. Drew was attracted to Göran for who he was, not because he was gay. He wanted to be Göran friend, whatever his sexual orientation. When Drew invited Göran to go to the Valentine's dance with him, it was as if he stood outside his body as a spectator, watching himself ask Göran to be his partner.
"Affirmative," Göran said, "we'll go to the dance together. Now that's settled, but I hope you don't mind if I ask you, Drew, is this a date? Or are we just two guys going stag?"
"Maybe some of each," Drew said.
"I can do that," Göran replied: "two stags on a date!"
When Drew drove to Göran's farm to pick him up for the Valentine's dance, he didn't get lost on secondary farm-roads. He was nervous about being on his first date with a man, and terrified about what his straight teammates would think. Half-way to Wayward Island Resort, he pulled off the road so they could talk. He confided his fears to Göran, who offered to call off their date. "Oh, no, I don't want to do that," Drew said. The thrill of Göran's company outweighed his trepidation. "I'm just.... It's just that this is a big step for me." Never once did the word "gay" pass their lips. No need to mention the obvious.
"I'm proud of you, Drew, for daring to invite me. I know it takes guts to introduce me to your friends." Göran's words took Drew's breath away. It had never occurred to him that taking "pride" in the other was part of friendship, buth this truth was obvious the moment Göran said it. When their conversation was over, they understood that they would be lovers, even though neither of them spoke of it.
That's why Göran and Drew came late to the Valentine's dance.
When they trudged through snow from Drew's car to the lodge, Drew noticed for the first time that Göran's basket rivaled his own. His attraction to Göran was leading him toward a new self-identity.
During a break from the music, the teens reminisced about last night's hockey game. Jonathan displayed the Hibbing Daily Tribune. Henry spoke up, with a blow-by-blow account of contributions that Jim, Bob, and Richard had made to the game. Jim's, Bob's, and Richard's girlfriends were delighted. Henry talked about Drew. "How come everyone takes the goalie for granted, even when he's not the goalie?" Henry asked rhetorically. "Our sudden-death victory was teamwork, and this time the hero was Drew, not me. It was Drew who got the puck past Iron Mountain's defense. He out-skated all three defense-man. It was Drew who passed the puck when it counted. All I did was follow through with a tactic that Drew and I had practiced for weeks. It was Drew's game." In the buzz that followed, word got around that the coach from BSC was at the game, and that afterward, he signed up Drew for a hockey scholarship. Drew became the center of attention, not because of Göran, but because of his role as the "attack-player" the night before.
Red Feather and Jim returned to their piano and drums for more rock'n'roll. They played three or four lively tunes. Then Jim announced to the teens: "It's Valentine's day, so Red Feather and I are gonna change the mood. We're gonna play some slow-dancing music. Our first tune will be for couples only. If you're here on a date, you're invited to dance cheek-to-cheek. Everyone else can join in on the dance in the second tune."
Red Feather and Jim started with the Righteous Brothers' "Unchained Melody." They chose it for its lyrics as well as its tune: "Oh my love, my darling, I hunger for your touch." Bob and Richard danced with their girlfriends. Kevin and Jonathan joined in. Kelly and Sara followed; then Vic and Henry, and Red Hawk and Keith. Drew and Göran stood watching. Göran wouldn't pressure Drew to dance if he wasn't ready. When Red Feather sang, "I need your love, I need your love, God speed your love," Drew took Göran's. Seconds later when they danced, Drew hid his face in Göran shoulder. Eventually he realized that he had nothing to hide, and danced cheek to cheek, beaming with pride. "Thanks for this, Göran said. "I needed to know that you're not ashamed to be with me." They slow-danced through Red Feather's rendition of Elvis- "Love me tender, love me sweet," and of John Mayer in "Slow Dancing in a Burning Room," followed by "Your Body is a Wonderland" and "Free Fallin'." Red Feather queered the songs with slight changes in the lyrics. Fallin' free felt real to Drew. He clung to Göran as if to escape an abyss.
Romantic dancing forged a bond between Kevin and Jonathan, too. Just in case Jonathan had forgotten that he lost his ass in a bet, Kevin reminded him by fondling his prize while they danced. For anyone who looked closely, the nine- inch crease in Kevin's jeans, asymmetrical to his five-foot-five frame, signified that "Be My Valentine" was no metaphor. Their exuberance was striking, especially in contrast to the quietude of Göran and Drew when the two couples danced in close proximity to each other.
Red Feather and Jim returned to playing lively rock'n'roll. Göran and Drew retreated to the hearth to examine "Water Hole Follies." Mrs. Ravitch joined them. She told them about the painting and the "soldiers swimming" tradition behind it. I joined them, too, and asked if they would like to see Mrs. Ravitch's most recent painting. "It's in the studio," I said. "I'll give you guys a tour." We trudged through the snow to Mrs. Ravitch's cabin. The triptych- "Apollo and Admetus"- stood centered in the parlor-turned-studio, covered with a white sheet. I turned on the photo-lamp for effect. I removed the sheet. Göran and Drew gasped at the painting's first impression: a bright radiation of color from the central panel. I felt the effect, too. We shared a round of Christian Brothers brandy while we studied the central panel.
It was easy for me to read the minds of Göran and Drew while they gazed on "Apollo and Admetus." Cognitive processing is different for individuals, but it follows a predictable pattern. First, the brilliance of color, but the figures of two male nudes, the weaker man mounting the stronger, quickly strikes the sense. Next came the realization of intercourse, and attention is drawn to Admetus's half-engulfed cock, several shades darker than the rest of his body. After that, the shock of recognition: Admetus is Red Feather, and he's really doing it!-followed by the realization that the anguished face of Apollo was modeled by Jake, whose body is posed in an embrace that is simultaneously a conquest. "Is that really you, Jake?" Drew asked.
"Very perceptive of YOU, Drew," I replied. I told Göran and Drew the myth of Apollo and Admetus: the original myth, not the sanitized form found in Euripides's Alcestis. My explanation diverted their attention to the first and third panels of the triptych. I pointed out the repetition of themes that bound the triptych into a single narrative-especially the facial expressions of Asclepius, Death, and Apollo in the center. I said nothing about our unconventional modeling techniques. "It's art now," I said. "As art it must stand or fall on its merits."
"It looks so real," Göran said, "yet somehow, well... mythological."
"There's something about Apollo," Drew said. "There's something you're not telling us, Jake." We gazed at the painting while I let them guess.
"I know what it is," Göran said. "Apollo is getting it for the first time."
"That's the moment that Mrs. Ravitch meant to capture in the painting," I replied. "Looks like she succeeded."
I led Göran and Drew to one of the bedrooms. I opened the top dresser drawer, and found a lube-tube and a package of condoms. I placed them atop the dresser. A bottle of poppers was there, too, still wrapped in cellophane. "This is just in case you boys want an extra kick," I said, and demonstrated their use. As we left the studio to return to the party, I locked the door, and gave Drew the key. "The artworks in here are quite valuable," I said, "so make sure you keep the studio locked up."
"Thanks, Jake," the boys said in unison.
Back in the lodge, the dance was winding down. The teens seemed surprised by the sudden reappearance of Göran and Drew. Kevin asked me if he and Jonathan could spend the night at my cabin. It was his job to ask. Of course I agreed. An inverse relation developed between quietude and the levels of testosterone and estrogen. The teens drifted out in couples and trios. Göran and Drew sat by the hearth and gazed at "Water Hole Follies."
The heart is a lonely hunter. Drew was hungry for love. He wanted the anguish of Apollo. "I've come to a decision about something," he said. A long hesitation followed. Göran waited quietly for him to continue. "I've decided to play goalie. I've thought this over. That's what I've decided, if you want me that way."
Göran squeezed Drew's hand, looked into his eyes, smiled, and nodded. "I hope to be worthy of the gift," he said. Two lovers-to-be were greeted by fresh falling snow as they walked hand in hand to Mrs. Ravitch's studio. Which condition brings more happiness? I wondered: the exuberant rutting of Kevin and Jonathan, or the quiet romance of Drew and Göran?
According to radio reports, the snow would keep falling all night. This was convenient for those teens whose plans precluded going home. Parents received hyperbolic cellphone reports of a snowstorm in Ashawa, together with assurances that they had safe lodging for the night. Better to stay the night than risk driving on slippery roads. By morning their reports would become a reality. They would be "snowed in."
Kevin and Jonathan announced that they would walk across the Bay from the lodge to my cabin. The door would be unlocked, I said and I'd leave the lights on. Ma'ingan went with. He scouted the snow-covered ice and herded them toward the goal that Kevin was eager for, and Jonathan was resigned to put up with. (In case you haven't noticed, only in the North Country do people favor sentences and clauses that end in prepositions. It's a Scandinavian influence on the language.)
Before we went to bed, Red Feather set the "toy-box" on the kitchen table. It had everything Kevin and Jonathan would need, and more: lube, sex toys, condoms, poppers. Beside the toy-box, I laid out two viagra pills, two tumblers, and a bottle of Jack Daniels. An hour later, we woke to the sounds of Kevin and Jonathan on sleeping bags by the fireplace, and Ma'ingan making his watchdog rounds in the cabin. Kevin tore off Jonathan's clothes and tossed them aside. He wanted to inspect his prize, he said. "Gabrielli, that's from Gabriel, the number one angel in heaven, isn't it? You're an angel, too, Jonathan. Spread your legs and show me your almost-virgin ass. Such a sweet hole, it's angelic, a reddish little star in the bush, fallen between the brownish foothills of Italy!" Kevin had foreskin-fun too. He challenged Jonathan to dock him the length of his nine-inch cock. The effort was futile, of course, but it signified that Kevin and Jonathan each brought something unique to their sexual encounter. Red Feather and I started fondling each other, stimulated by the love-birds in the next room.
The next sound we heard was the vibrator, and Jonathan moaning as Kevin administered it to his ass. Red Feather teased my ass with his fingers. "And now, my friend," Kevin said, "I'm offering you a string of black pearls."
"What are those for?" Jonathan asked.
Kevin wrapped the string of anal beads around Jonathan's neck. "It's a bit tight for a necklace," he said playfully. He sang a line from a Bob Dylan song, "'You may be a socialite with a long string of pearls, but you gotta serve somebody!' And I know somewhere else we can put these black pearls." One by one he inserted eight steelie-sized beads up Jonathan's ass. Jonathan groaned, and moaned loudly, when Kevin pulled them out, pearl by black pearl. Red Feather applied lube to my asshole and flipped me on my belly. Kevin repeated the anal- bead action on Jonathan several times. Red Feather took possession of my ass.
Jonathan yelped and groaned when Kevin missioned him. Red Feather fucked me from behind, following the rhythm of Jonathan's groans, which soon turned to moans. When Kevin seeded Jonathan with his breeding-tube, Red Feather poured himself into me. Minutes later, we heard Kevin fucking Jonathan from behind. Red Feather sucked my cock. When Kevin orgazzed a second time, my spooge sprayed Red Feather's mouth. While Jonathan accepted a second dose of Kevin's sperm, Red Feather kissed me and we shared the taste of my bull-milk. Red Feather and I slept through the night, so I don't know how many times Kevin fucked Jonathan. Their deal was that Kevin owned Jonathan's ass for the night- all because Drew had asked Göran on a date for the Valentine's dance. Jonathan lost a bet, and his ass, and his pretentions as a top. In the morning, Jonathan woke to find that he had become Kevin's bottom. Kevin had trained him well. He liked it. They became lovers: a miracle of St. Valentine!
Another nocturnal miracle was the defloration of Drew. This took place in the privacy of the bedroom in Mrs. Ravitch's studio. According to the rigors of verisimilitude, Dear Reader, neither you nor I would be privy to their private transactions. That may be so, but what is verisimilitude if not a rhetorical convention, on a par with taking care that metaphors are apt, that similes are piquant, that dialogue is colloquial, that settings are colorful, that long sentences appear in relief with short ones, and that clichés and proverbs are deconstructed in unconventional contexts? Verisimilitude is just a border between truth and fiction. Like all borders it is blurred space. It is a fluid illusion, because the boundary between truth and fiction is unknowable, if it exists at all. Verisimilitude exists for fiction, not fiction for verisimilitude. What if I told you that the story of Henry and me harvesting ice from Wayward Bay was pure fiction? - Yet each detail about ice-harvesting is true. Verisimilitude in fiction is an illusion created by symbolic details, like the use of a borrowed truck, an axe, a chain saw, and sawdust in the ice house. Granting ourselves artistic license, therefore, let us steal softly into Mrs. Ravitch's studio, where we will open the door to the bedroom where Göran and Drew are preparing each other's bodies for their virginal act of intercourse.
We got there in time to see Göran help Drew out of his clothes. They decided to start that way, getting Drew naked, so Göran could savor the glories of the body was to be the object of his conquest. It was Drew's idea. He wanted Göran to enjoy the gift of his body to the fullest. When the shirt and T-shirt came off, Göran folded them carefully on a chair. Göran pinched Drew's nips, which perked like buttons with miniature heads, in contrast with Göran's flattened nipples. Göran fondled Drew's well-formed chest and tight abdomen. Göran praised Drew for his physique. They kissed, lightly at first, then passionately. They spoke words of love. While Drew sat on the side of the bed, Göran knelt down and removed his shoes and socks. He placed them under the chair. He massaged Drew's feet, and ran his hands up Drew's legs and thighs. Drew stood up, facing Göran, who unbuckled his belt and unzipped his jeans, not without stoking the eight-inch lump in his crotch, which throbbed at his touch. Drew tugged at his jeans, but Göran said, "Let me do that, lover." Göran pulled the jeans to the floor. When Drew stepped out of them, he kicked them aside, but Göran retrieved them and folded them, and placed them on the chair atop his shirt and T-shirt. Göran knelt before Drew and pulled down his jockey shorts. His throbbing cock sprung upward, released from the elastic band of his shorts. Drew gasped while Göran sucked his cock and tasted a generous dose of pre-cum.
Naked now, Drew lay back on the bed. Göran knelt beside him. His fingers and lips explored the crooks and crannies of Drew. This was Göran's first sexual encounter, as it was for Drew. Never before had he known the thrill of conquest. He reverenced his lover's body as a gift, but reverence gave way to lust for possession. He kissed Drew's pits. With his teeth, he pulled at the hair in Drew's pits and pube. He tongued Drew's navel. He bit his nips. He licked the length of Drew's shaft. He licked Drew's scrotum, and sucked in one testicle, then another, while he fondled Drew's cleft. Yes, this is what Drew wanted. Drew spread his legs wide apart to give Göran access to his ass. Göran pressed a finger against Drew's asshole. "Roll over, babe. Let me get a look at that sweet ass," he said. He rolled his hands over Drew's rounded rump. He spread ass-cheeks apart and fingered the cleft. He gazed at the brownish red hole. It twinkled like the Northern Star. He knelt between Drew's legs, and ran his tongue the length of the cleft, up and down, closer to his asshole each time. He pressed his lips over Drew's asshole. He tongued it. Suddenly he knew what the poppers were for. He pulled off the cellophane wrap and snorted. He rimmed Drew, energetically, while Drew moaned with delight. Drew got doggie-style and arched his back. Göran rimmed him and frigged his cock. His possession of Drew was no less energetic than Kevin's possession of Jonathan, but it was more complete because of Göran's loving nature.
"Whoa there, boy, you're comin' on too strong," Drew said. "Don't open the barn door too soon!"
"The horse is already out of the barn," Göran said. He had unbuckled his belt and opened his fly. He cock jutted outward, eight and a half wedgy-thick inches, uncut. Drew gasped. This was more than he bargained for. Horse was an apt metaphor.
"It's time you got me naked," Göran said. Following Göran's example, Drew folded his lover's clothes, adding them piece by piece to the pile of clothing on the chair. Drew marveled at his fair skin, silky-smooth and gleaming. "Love is blind," some people say. It's not. A lover sees beauty in his beloved when it is overlooked by others. Although Göran was slender, his arms and legs were muscular, his abdomen tight with hints of a washboard. Drew explored every inch of Göran's body with fingers and lips, and rimmed with the aid of poppers. Above all he fingered and sucked Göran's cock, delighted to find it uncut. He played with Göran's foreskin with lips and tongue, until Göran warned him to stop.
Göran flipped Drew over and swatted his rump, just a medium smack to see how it felt. Drew seemed to like it, so Göran gave him a sexual spanking, each time asking how it felt. Gradually he learned to smack Drew in ways that he liked.
They lay side by side in bed, embracing and kissing. Göran probed Drew's ass with his fingers while they kissed. Their eyes locked. "Is it time?" Göran asked, softly. The closer they got to cherry-popping, Göran's manner turned gentler. I am reminded that in most top-bottom relationships, the top is the top, but the bottom is the boss.
Drew lay on his back. Göran knelt between his legs and applied lube to Drew's asshole. He finger-fucked slowly, and noticed that Drew had an unexpectedly tight ass. He let Drew spread lube on his cock, which throbbed at the touch. "I suppose this is gonna hurt," Drew said glumly. "I feel like a lamb led to slaughter."
"A little lost lamb led to the fold, Drew, not to slaughter," Göran said. "Still, to judge from the agony of Apollo, it's gonna hurt a lot, Drew. It's something we both know we gotta do."
"Just don't tell me that popping my cherry is gonna hurt you more than me," Drew said with a low chuckle.
"I won't lie to you, Drew. It won't hurt me at all," Göran said. "Oh, ah, Drew, I forgot to put on a condom."
Drew held Göran close. "No condom," he said. "I want our first time to be... intimate, skin to skin."
"Are you sure, buddy?" Göran said. It was a rhetorical question. "Skin to skin," Göran repeated: "skin to anal lining."
Drew spread wide and rested his forelegs on Göran's shoulders. Lust came to Göran when he saw the glory of Drew so completely exposed. Drew told Göran to prop a pillow under his ass. Göran moved forward with his cock aimed at the target. With another forward movement, Göran's cock pushed through Drew's sphincter. Drew howled and yelped. He shook his head from side to side. He groaned. Perspiration dripped down his face. Göran waited for Drew to settle down. When their eyes locked, Drew's look of trepidation was answered by Göran's stern resolve. When they exchanged looks, each man drew courage from the countenance of the other.
"Are you ready, buddy?" Göran said as he pushed his shaft half-way into Drew. The howls and yelps that came from Drew were louder than before. "Holy shit!" he cried. "You've got such a big dick, Göran, I'm splitting apart. Feels like a hot poker. Damn that hurts!"
"Try taking deep breaths, Drew, and concentrate on your breathing," Göran suggested. The sharp burning pain dissipated inside him. I don't know if it helped to breathe deeply. It just takes time for the inner sphincter to stretch. "Are you OK, Drew?" Göran asked. "No, but thanks for asking," Drew replied, satirically, and laughed. The more Göran inflicted pain, the more he comforted Drew by repeating his name in a verbal caress.
With an unwavering push, Göran inserted the total length of his cock into Drew, who yelped at the pain, but not as loud as before. "You goddam BASTARD!" he said. "Gawd what a huge dick!" When he settled down, he asked, "How much more we gotta go?"
"I've got good news for you there, Drew, buddy, my cock is all the way inside you," Göran said.
"Really?" Drew reached behind him and felt the base of Göran cock at his asshole. "Now what do we do, Göran," he asked.
"We wait," Göran said. "We wait until you're ready. Then we fuck. Are you OK, Drew?"
"I feel strange, different," Drew said. "It feels like I've got your whole body inside me. It's strange, but it's nice." Göran kissed him.
They waited, eyes locked. Drew's body was tense, but gradually relaxed. He fondled Göran's waist. His hands roved Göran's ass. He put pressure on Göran's ass, as if trying to pull him in deeper. Göran responded with short, gentle fuck-strokes. Gradually he picked up the pace, and administered longer strokes. Drew groaned each time Göran's cock seemed to find a square inch of his anal canal that had not yet been breached. Occasionally he moaned with pleasure. Eventually there were more moans than groans.
Göran pulled his cock all the way out of Drew, then thrust it back in, slow but steady. Drew's eyes widened, and he groaned at first. Then he moaned. Göran repeated the action multiple times, each with more force than the last. A weird sensation came to Drew. He felt he was falling, like the way you feel when you are falling asleep but suddenly wake up. He told Göran about it. "It gave me the sensation of... surrender," Drew said. "It felt like a turning-point, like my body is an extension of yours."
"That's sweet," Göran said. He kissed Drew. When Göran fucked harder, Drew moved his body in harmony with his lover. Göran flipped him over and fucked from behind, and side by side, intercursally. Drew lay on his back with his ass at the edge of the bed, while Göran stood between his legs and fucked. Drew straddled Göran's abdomen and sat on his ass, facing him. He swiveled around and fucked with his ass toward Göran's face. As Drew pumped his asshole down and up Göran's pole, Göran imagined his cock as a stout birch, erect between two radiant moons. The beauties of Drew's body were uncountable treasures.
Göran returned to missioning Drew. He learned how to hump fiercely, and alternate with a gentle massage of his anal canal. "I'm lovin' it!" Drew said. "Göran, I'm lovin' it." Göran frigged Drew's cock. Drew was preparing for orgasm. The lovers communicated this with their eyes. No need for words. Aromatic jizz inspired lust in Göran eyes. "I love you, Drew," he said. With all five senses engaged, Göran humped fiercely. By this time, Drew could take it without groaning. His eyes widened when he felt the heat of Göran's cock expanding inside him. Göran eyes widened, too. He poured himself into Drew. Göran's cock, once so turgid, now felt lubriciously silken. Göran lay with the weight of his torso over Drew while he soaked his cock in an ocean of semen. Drew's anal canal locked Göran's cock in a foamy embrace, until it retrenched and slid out.
"Until now, the only sex I've had was from jacking off," Drew said. "I never imagined it would feel so good. You're sensational. I like it that part of you is inside me."
"I feel the same way, Drew," Göran said. "You're the one who's sensational."
"We're lovers now," Drew said.
"Yes, we're lovers, Drew," Göran replied. "Lovers. It's so beautiful. Next time, we can switch roles if you want to, Drew."
"Someday we will," Drew said. "But for now, I like it like this, unless you feel cheated by not getting to bottom."
"I think I'm sort of a natural-born top," Göran said.
"No kidding!" Drew exclaimed.
"I love you, Drew, and because I love you, I can be whatever you need me to be."
"I love you, too, Göran. This is what I need. I need to learn how to bring out the top man in you. And I need you to learn how to bring out the bottom in me."
"Bottom MAN," Göran corrected Drew. "You said 'bottom'. You mean 'bottom MAN'. You're the one who took all the pain while I was taking my pleasure at your expense."
"No pain, no gain," Drew said. "We say that in hockey. Maybe I like pain. Well, SOME pain. You took me through a whole range of feelings. By the way, happy Valentine's Day!"
In the shower, Drew and Göran cared for each other's bodies, washing and rinsing. It was an act of love, and just as important to them as the intimate contact that necessitated a shower. It is unnecessary to mention that they didn't sleep through the night. When they awoke the first time, they blew each other in a 69 and marveled at the taste of semen. Propelled by the thrill of a brand new pleasure, Göran fucked Drew from behind three times, and again in the early light of dawn. In the morning, they rejoiced at two feet of new-fallen snow. It meant that they would spend the day together, snowbound.
They returned to the lodge for breakfast with Tom, Mrs. Ravitch, Randy O'Grady, and Billy White Cloud, who had spent the night with Randy. Randy was still randy, but only with Billy. They sensed that Göran and Drew were not the same men as they were the previous evening. They were lovers. That was now a fact. The pride that they took in each other was obvious in words and in deeds. Mrs. Ravitch, always diplomatic diverted the conversaton from romance to schooling. She heard that Drew had decided to go to Bemidji State for college. "Why the change, Drew? I thought you were interested in the Main U, or in the University of Wisconsin. Was it because of the hockey scholarship at BSC?"
"No," Drew said. "The coach from BSC offered me a four-year scholarship and I accepted it. That's true. But I didn't do it for the scholarship. I switched because Henry Hasek told me that Göran had decided to go to Bemidji. We were with Coach in the coffee shop in Mountain Iron. We were debating about the scholarship. Then Henry told me about Göran. That made my mind up."
No one looked more surprised than Göran.