Wayward Island (8) How Jake was named Jake Two Spirits
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. All characters are fictional and are not based on real persons. Most place- names are fictional, too. Send comments and suggestions to jemtling@gmail.com. Jake will respond to all sincere correspondents. Please consider supporting "Nifty Stories" with a donation! To learn how, click "Donate" in the index heading.
Special thanks to Karl Boyd for his suggestion that I include the North American Indian concept of "two spirits" in the story!
Saturday morning came. Sam Black Bear and Roger Johnson showed up early. We were a hunting party of five: Sam, Roger, Red Feather, me, and Wolfie. It was our dog's first hunting excursion.
"I'm sorry I bailed on you guys the other day," Roger said. "It's just that I've never had sex with a guy. Not that I object, but everything was moving too fast for me. I guess I sort of freaked out."
"No need to apologize, Roger," I said. "We're just ordinary guys here, except for Wolfie. No one should be pressured into doing anything he's not ready for."
Red Feather drove my car to Tamarack Swamp. Sam sat in the front seat with him. Roger and I sat in back, with Wolfie between us. Wolfie took a liking to Roger, who, in turn, took a liking to me. When we got to the Swamp, we paired off: Red Feather with Sam, and me with Roger. Wolfie walked alongside Roger, his new best friend. We trudged two miles across frozen ponds and clumps of icy grasses. The tamaracks shimmered, golden in the morning sun. While we were walking, I offered Roger a proposition: "When we get back to the cabin, Sam can drive Red Feather back to Crane Lake. He needs to be there tonight, to prepare for playing the piano at church the next morning. You can stay with me, and I'll take you back to Crane Lake tomorrow."
"You would do that for me?" Roger seemed surprised.
"You seem like a nice guy, Roger. I like you, and just as important, Wolfie likes you." Wolfie wagged his tail at the sound of his name. "He'd be one disappointed dog of you didn't want to stay over with him."
Roger rewarded Wolfie with some rough-house petting. We walked in silence for a few minutes. "Has Sam told you anything about me?" I asked.
"He said you were hot," Roger said.
"It would be just the two of us," I said. "Something's holding you back, Roger. Can you trust me enough to tell me? Is there something about me that bothers you?"
"No, you're a great guy Jake. It's me that's a problem."
"Like I said before, we're all just ordinary guys. There's nothing special about me, and there's nothing wrong with you, Roger. Trust me to be your friend."
"What's holding me back is that, well, I'm afraid I might disappoint you," Roger said. "I'm not a big guy in the sex department."
"I'll bet you've got passion in bed, Roger. That's all that matters. That, and the fact that you've got a good heart. Did Sam tell you...?"
"He just said you're hot," Roger repeated.
"I'm not a superficial guy, Roger. I'm not into big dicks. Sincerity and passion are more important," I said. "The idea of spending the night with you turns me on, but only if that's what you want."
"All right then, Jake, I'll stay with you," Roger said. He sounded reluctant, but in fact he was energized by the prospect, once the deal was sealed. He gazed at my body in motion as we trudged through Tamarack Swamp. Every now and then he gave my butt a proprietary slap. Lust flashed in his eyes. I put an arm around him whenever he got close.
It snowed when we reached the meadow on the opposite side of the swamp. Wolfie proved to be a natural hunter. When we spotted a herd of deer, he dashed into the woods, made an end run around them, and chased them in our direction. I gave Roger my rifle. He shot a well-antlered buck. The four of us carried our prey across Tamarack Swamp and back to the car. While we struggled with the carcass, I told Sam and Red Feather about our plan for the night. Sam shook Roger's hand and congratulated him on the conquest that he was about to make. The way he said it puzzled Roger, who looked at him quizzically.
We stopped for lunch in the Red Loon café. People in the town seemed surprised to see me in the company of three Indians, but they were already accustomed to seeing me with Red Feather. With a buck on the top of our car, it was obvious that we had been hunting, so no one suspected that sex was part of our game. I cautioned the guys not to give away the secret of Tamarack Swamp. "That would be worse than giving away the location of a good fishing hole on Ashawa River," I said. When people asked, we said we had good hunting on the road between Ashawa and Chisholm. That was a thirty-mile stretch of forest and farms. No one would guess we meant Tamarack Swamp.
We finished breaking the deer by 3:00 PM. Sam and Red Feather departed for Crane Lake with a trunk full of venison. I showed Roger how to fire the sauna. We cut balsam boughs in the sunlit snow. Back in the cabin, we sat on the sofa in front of the hearth and drank whisky. Roger fondled my body, tentatively at first. Soon he got bolder. I fingered the chiseled Chippewa features of his face: his high cheek bones, prominent nose, and sturdy jaws. He gazed into my eyes with searching brown eyes. Our kiss promised more to come.
I first saw Roger naked when we changed into sweats for the trek to the sauna. His cock was small like he said, barely six inches, but it was thick and hooded with a raggedy foreskin. I blew him a wolf whistle. Roger stands five foot five, but he is well built and strong, the effect of cutting trees in the forest. His hair flows down to his shoulders when he doesn't have it wrapped in a bandanna. I liked the novelty of that.
Roger had no complaints about me either. I stripped down to my shorts. "Let me do that," Roger said, and helped me out of my shorts. "You know what I like about you and your tidy whities?" Roger asked. "What's that?" "When I strip off your tidy whities, what do I find? More tidy whities!" He fingered my tan line. We laughed. Roger swatted my butt.
The ritual of the sauna was foreplay. We took turns soaping and rinsing each other. When the time came to massage each other with balsam boughs, he gave my ass a thorough cleansing. I did the same for him. When we rolled together in the snow and groped each other, Roger seemed to enjoy swatting my butt.
Back in the cabin, I stripped out of my sweats and put wood on the fire. From the bedroom dresser, I fetched a small box of supplies we would need: a lube-tube, olive oil, some poppers, and small selection of sex-toys, some of which we may or may not find useful. Roger rifled through my "toy-box," as I called it. "I'll have to ask you later what some of these things are used for," Roger said. My viagra supply was there, too. We each downed a little blue pill with whisky.
We sat on the sofa and drank whisky straight from the bottle, passing it back and forth. Wolfie lay on the floor, at our feet. Roger fondled my body, while I groped at his sweats. I slipped his sweatpants down and sucked his dick. Mostly I nibbled at his foreskin, and complimented him on having "such a great hoody." I admitted to having a weakness for foreskins. We embraced. He didn't resist when I undressed him.
I started love-making with Roger by pinching and nibbling his nipples. He reciprocated. I chewed at his underarms. He did the same. We knelt facing each other, and I pulled his foreskin over my cockhead. He wasn't aware that this was called "docking." He took delight in learning that circumcised guys like me were attracted to foreskins --- like opening a package under a Christmas tree and finding a brand new toy. He was the proud owner of something I wanted. Roger and I talked about this. In the North Country, most boys get circumcised shortly after birth. For physicians back then (when I was born), the procedure was routine. They didn't even consult the parents, or if they did, the doctor spoke with the mother about it, but not the father. As a result of this barbaric procedure, males were deprived of as much as forty percent of their sexual nerve endings --- no doubt a cause of sexual dysfunction in men later in life. (Of course the doctors deny this, but their claim is unempirical.) By contrast, many infants on the Res were delivered by midwives in their homes, not in hospitals, so uncut cocks were the norm for a Chippewa man.
We lay on the quilt by the hearth, side by side in the mutual pleasure of a 69. My eight-and-a-half-inch cock was as great a novelty for him as his foreskin was for me, but my ass got most of the points. I moaned with pleasure whenever Roger reached for it. Gradually he got bolder. He figured me for a top, but I knew he was starting to calculate his chances. I could have just told him that like getting fucked, but that would have deprived Roger of the joy of seduction. If neither Sam nor Red Feather told him that, why should I? Let him enjoy finding out for himself!
I invited Roger to slap my butt if he wanted to. In the sauna, he had given me a few playful swats. "I've never had any experience with sexual spanking," I said, "but when we were fooling around in the sauna, you seemed to like doing that. I'm game for more, if it pleases you. Just start slow and gentle. We can gradually work up to some serious butt-swats."
Roger administered a half-dozen open-handed swats to my butt, each one louder than the last. The noise attracted Wolfie, who wagged his tail and nosed his way toward my butt to investigate. "I like the way your cheeks turn red when I slap you," he whispered, while Wolfie sniffed at our interaction
We wrestled, to see who was stronger. Wolfie joined in. After ten minutes of sweaty struggle --- interrupted by Wolfie, who demanded petting and cuddling --- Roger pinned me face down to the floor, and gave me another round of butt- swats. We rolled on the floor in an embrace. We took turns sucking cock. Roger spanked me again, while Wolfie nosed in close.
"This is making me hot, Roger," I said. "Let's alternate between spanking and love-making. During love-making, we'll take turns on each other. First I'll sex you up, and the next time you can sex me up. We'll see where that takes us." I took my first turn, nibbling Roger's foreskin and pinching his nipples.
Roger swatted my butt. The timbre of my groans rose from tenor to alto. He sexed me up by sucking my balls. He spanked me again. I groaned a high alto. I sexed him up by sucking his cock. He spanked me again, and fondled my butt. This time I was definitely groaning soprano. He ran his fingers up and down my crevice, and made contact with my asshole. Every time Roger spanked, me, Wolfie got in close to watch, tail wagging. When the spanking ended and we turned to love-making, Wolfie lay at our feet.
Roger swatted my butt again. I decided it was time for the poppers. I told him to sit on the sofa. I knelt between his legs. He rested his forelegs on my shoulders. I sucked his cock and his balls, and licked his perineum. Then I snorted the poppers, and zeroed in on Roger's ass with my lips. I explored the ridges of his asshole with my tongue.
Roger told me to lie across his lap. He swatted my butt. I howled and wailed soprano. Roger commented on the redness of my cheeks. "Whoever said Indians are 'Red Men' hasn't had a look at your ass-cheeks," he said, in a deep, husky voice that contrasted my soprano squeals. He held me in place and fondled my ass. He reached for the lube-tube, and swabbed his middle finger. I moaned when his finger penetrated my ass. He stuck his finger all the way in and wiggled it inside me. I moaned. "Do you like that, Jake?" Roger asked. I said yes.
"That's one finger, Jake," Roger said. "When you ask me for two fingers, I'll know you're ready."
After a few minutes, I asked Roger to use two fingers. "One of us has got to submit," Roger said in a deep, husky voice. "I think it should be you, Jake."
"Do you think so?" I asked, in a thin falsetto, exaggerated for Roger's benefit, but not entirely fake.
Roger told me to stand up. He stood behind me, and swatted my butt until my cheeks reddened. Every time we shifted positions, Wofie moved with us. He stood beside Roger and wagged his tail. I fetched the nipple-clamps from my toy- box, a showed him how to clamp my nipples. He tugged at the clamp-chain while he finger-fucked my ass.
Roger tugged my nipple-clamp chain to guide me to the floor, face-down. He spread olive oil on my butt, and lubed my asshole. He swatted my butt. He turned me over and got between my knees. He penetrated my ass in one steady thrust of his cock. I howled. I wailed soprano. There was no echo of timberwolves. Not in the afternoon. But Wolfie wagged his tail and licked my face while I groaned. Roger gave me no quarter. From the moment of penetration, he fucked with long, steady strokes. I groaned. "I know it hurts, Jake, but you'll thank me later for fucking you this way," Roger said.
Every man has a unique fucking rhythm. Roger's was naturally brutal. Any guy who gets fucked by him will soon forget that his cock is less than six inches when erect. There was no question in my mind that I had been fucked over. We tried different positions: doggie-style, side-by-side intercursal, fucking me from behind with my body draped over the sofa. We even fucked standing up, although I had to lean forward with my weight to the hearth, to compensate for our differences in height. He liked it when I sat on his cock and pumped up and down. Whenever we shifted positions, Wolfie came over to investigate. The dog seemed oblivious to our fucking, but he liked to participate in the physicality of our bodies in motion.
"Think of your cock as a giant clittie, Jake," Roger said gruffly. "Think of your ass as male pussy. I want to hear you sing soprano." I beat my meat while I pumped his cock with my ass. "I'm getting ready to cum, I'm cuming," I cried out in the thin timbre that he wanted to hear. The fragrance of jizz filled the room when I came. Roger scooped jizz from his chest and tasted it. He inserted jizz- lubricious fingers into my mouth. I licked up the remaining portions of jizz from his chest and belly, and French-kissed Roger. The taste of my jizz in his mouth fueled his lust.
It was time for Roger to drive intercourse to its climax. He asked me if I had a preferred position. "I think it should be breeder's choice," I said. Lust flashed in Roger's eyes. We hadn't discussed it, and now, suddenly, I had given him license to breed me. He guided me into place on my back and knelt between my legs. He propped a pillow under my ass. "I want to look you in the eye when I breed you, Jake," he said. "But first I want you to suck my balls." Roger straddled my chest. I nibbled on his hairy scrotum, and sucked in one testicle, then the other.
"I'm thinking about your Cherokee jizz while I'm sucking your balls, Roger," I whispered. "We're on the same wavelength," Roger replied. "I'm gonna seed you and make you a half-breed Cherokee. You're gonna be Jake Two Spirits."
The name puzzled me, but philosophical explanations could wait. It was time for plowing and sowing. Roger broke into the furrow and fucked unrelentingly while I groaned and moaned. He whispered words of affection while he fucked, like what a great body I had, what a tight male-pussy. He expressed admiration when my cock hardened again. "That's a tribute to your love-making, Roger," I said. "You're a great lover." Roger kissed me with passion, grateful for the compliment.
It's hard to explain how it feels at the moment just before your lover's cock explodes in your ass. I knew when it was coming, because Roger went into concentrated silence. His gaze was determined when our eyes met. His breathing got raspy. Extra warmth flowed to his cock and it seemed to expand. The Little Engine that Could mounted the track to its destination. Nothing could stop it. My anal canal, which had given him traction, now felt lubriciously silken. Roger announced each orgasmic rush with a series of moans. Afterward we lay still while he soaked his dick in my ocean of juices. I wondered what Roger was feeling. He was proud of his conquest. Breeding empowered him. When we first met, Roger took it for granted that I was a top. He was willing to get fucked if that was the price for being with me, but playing the "male" role was a dream come true. Of course we both know, Dear Reader, that bottoming is a male role, too: it takes guts to surrender, and iit's always accompanied by pain. But we mustn't deprive our "tops" of their illusions. No need to bruise their egos.
Daylight was fading to dusk, but a full moon brightened the snow on the lake. I suggested to Roger that we take an excursion on cross-country skis. We followed the lakeshore on the snow-covered ice, a half-mile into Wayward Bay. Wolfie decided that he was the leader of the pack, and ran ahead of us. When Roger or I lagged behind, Wolfie bounded in wide circles and pressed in behind us. We skied toward Willy Elbo's estate. Roger wanted to see it, if only from a distance in the moonlight. He had heard that Elbo was the richest man in the area. Once he had accompanied my cousin, Dave Preston, to Elbo's Chevy dealership to see about some work on one of the trucks. I showed Roger the places where Elbo had mined the Bay with mattress springs, to discourage people from fishing in front of his property. "Fishermen always lose their fishing lines here," I said. "Their hooks get caught in the mattress springs, never to be seen again."
"What a low-down scoundrel!" Roger said.
"Willy Elbo isn't a neighborly guy," I said. Still, we admired his Lincoln- log style house from a distance.
We decided to take a shortcut through the property next to Elbo's. From there we would return by the road. "This place belongs to Ben Hasek. He works for the mining company in Hibbing," I said. "It's a summer cabin. Ben built it himself, like most of the miners who own cabins on the lake."
We made a distressing discovery. Hasek's cabin was just a shell. Most of it was burned out. "This looks like arson, the way it's been burned so completely," Roger said. "From the charring, it looks like someone poured gasoline over the logs." Wolfie thought it was great fun, exploring the ruins of a cabin.
When we got back to my cabin, I tried to call Hasek. I got his answering machine. I left a message, saying that I would be in Hibbing the next morning and would call on him then.
We decided to go to Wayward Island Resort for dinner. I hadn't seen Uncle Tom all week. Besides, I knew that Roger wanted to show off his prize, and the lodge was a safe place for that. We had dinner with Randy and Tom in the restaurant. Wolfie lay at Roger's feet, occasionally wagging his tail. Randy announced that he was dating Billy White Cloud. "Billy swept me off my feet. I'm not into seeing anyone else," he said. "At least, not for now," he chuckled. I told Randy and Tom that Red Feather and Sam Black Bear had gone to Crane Lake, and Roger was staying with me. Randy shook Roger's hand and said "Congrats!" with a twinkle in his eye.
Enough about romance. Roger broke the news about Ben Hasek's burned- out cabin. "I'm afraid that Abe Snopes has come to Wayward Bay," I said. "Unless your plans have changed, Randy, we're driving to Hibbing tomorrow morning to pick up Mrs. Ravitch, and from there we'll drive to Crane Lake in time for the eleven o'clock service in the Mission Church. If we get an early start, we can stop by Hasek's home in Hibbing." I called Mrs. Ravitch to alert her that we might come a bit early.
Back in my cabin, Roger and I got naked for bed. Wolfie wanted to join us, but reluctantly agreed to sleep on a rag-rug at the foot of the bed. In my toy- box, Roger found my pink valentine-medallion that read "SUBMISSIVE BOTTOM." He hung it around my neck.
Earlier in the afternoon, after we had made love, we hadn't taken time for pillow-talk. Now we felt the need for debriefing. "It was the first time for me," Roger said. "I should thank you for rescuing me from my virginity. You were sensational, Jake Two Spirits, and you still are."
"Jake Two Spirits," I said. "You'll have to explain that to me."
"Your name has two meanings, one public and one private," Roger said. "If people ask you about it, tell them that your second self is Chippewa. Most Indians will accept that interpretation while knowing that "two spirits" has a deeper meaning. Between ourselves, your first spirit is masculine; your second spirit is feminine. Many tribes have this concept. A two-spirited person is gifted with special powers. A two-spirited woman might be a midwife, or a healer, or an artist. A two-spirited man might have healing powers, too, or artistic powers. Two-spirited people can interpret dreams, and foretell the future. Two-spirited people are always consulted in times of crisis, or whenever the tribe must make a collective decision. Two-spirited people are generous and helpful. Whenever a tribe is faced with a problem, a two-spirited man has the ability to see it from a cosmic perspective, while other men take a personal or a tribal view of things."
"Dear Roger, I'm afraid that you're giving me credit for powers that I simply don't have," I said. "All I did was let you fuck me."
"You did more than that," Roger replied. "You revealed true self to me. To put it in the white man's rhetorical terms, sex is a metonymy. The way you make love discloses your true nature as a two-spirited man. Sex is just a part of it. I know you're an artist, a writer. I believe that you possess other powers, powers that aren't aware of. We must go to Crane Lake to see Dark Eagle, the medicine man of my tribe. He will confirm that your name should be Jake Two Spirits."
"You're making me feel like the "sujet supposé savoir," I said: "the subject who is credited by others for knowing things that he doesn't know."
"Now it's you who must explain," Roger said. "What is this 'sujet supposé savoir'?"
"The idea comes through in Plato's dialogues," I said. "Socrates was always asking questions about the truth behind universal ideas, like 'what is beauty?' or "what is courage?' or 'what is love?' or 'what is justice?' Because Socrates asked these questions, other people credited him for knowing the truth about 'universal' ideas. In each of Plato's dialogues, the subject is beauty, or courage, or love, of justice, or piety. But each dialogue ends in frustration, because the truth of 'universals' is unknowable. That was the only 'truth' about universals that Socrates knew, but people flocked to him anyway, because they thought he knew more than what he was saying."
"Then Socrates was two-spirited, like you," Roger said. "It would be un- Chippewa to call you Jake Sujet Supposé Savoir, so your name must be Jake Two Spirits, 'le sujet supposé savoir'." We laughed at his wit. I admired Roger's insight, and the grammatical correctness of his French. The thought came to me that I needed to get closer to Roger, a man whose insight and intelligence I had underestimated until now.
We were feeling horny. Playfully, Roger rifled my toy-box. He held up a vibrator, the nipple-clamps, a virginal twelve-inch dildo, and a set of anal beads of many colors: red, white, black, yellow, green, blue, pink, and purple. "We must make love in ways that allow your feminine spirit to show itself again," he said. He held up the dildo.
"Put that goddam thing away," I said.
Roger dropped the dildo back into the box, but pulled out the nipple- clamps and a bright red butt-plug, four inches in length. I blushed. My smile told him that he could use these. He fastened the clamps to my nipples and teased me by tugging at the chain. Instead of lube, he pulled out a small tin of Crisco, and opened it. I lay on my back. He knelt at my side and helped me spread my legs apart. I winced and groaned while he inserted the butt-plug. "Now, Jake, let's see you wrap your ass tight around this butt-plug," he said. I did. Roger had struck gold. He gave me a minute to adjust to the feeling. I arched forward, and sighed. I raised my knees up to my elbows. Roger gazed into my eyes while he rotated the Crisco-coated butt-plug, slowly.
"Even the slightest motion feels like an earthquake inside me, Roger," I said. He rotated the butt-plug again. He used his free hand to stroke my cock. I panted. Beads of sweat rolled down my forehead and blurred my vision. He tugged at my nipple-chain.
"Your nipples are telegraphing a message to your male pussy," Roger said while he rotated the butt-plug.
Roger offered me a bottle of poppers. I snorted deeply. I moaned with relief when he pulled the butt-plug out of me. I groaned when he shoved it back and rotated it. Roger must have done this a half-dozen times before I realized what was happening. "I'm fucking you with the butt-plug, Jake," he said, and gave it to me a dozen times more.
Roger removed the butt-plug. "Let's get a look at your male pussy," he said. I spread my legs apart for him. "There's definitely an anal gape, Jake." He fetched a mirror from the bathroom so I could see it.
Roger helped me stand up. He stood behind me and inserted the butt-plug again. "Now, Jake, I want you to strut around the room and show off your muscles," he said. I did as he asked. "Now, Jake, you can see that your masculine spirit is in no way diminished by your feminine side."
Roger told me to lean with my weight against the back of the sofa. "Try to eject the butt-plug, Jake, like you was gonna shit," he said. Speaking ungrammatically was part of his act as a top. Each time I tried to expel the butt- plug, Roger pushed it back inside me. "This is hot," Roger said.
After a few unsuccessful tries on my part, Roger removed the butt-plug and substituted his cock. He experimented with punch-fucking, with Roger standing erect. To compensate for our differences in height, I had to lean forward, somewhat acrobatically, with legs spread wide. The butt-plug had prepared my ass well for his peg-punches! "How come you know so much about sex when you just lost your virginity?" I asked while Roger fucked me.
"Haven't you heard of the internet, and nifty stories?" Roger replied. He poured himself into me, but he wouldn't let me cum. "The night is still young," he said. We showered and went to bed, even though it was only 9:00 PM.
We slept for a couple hours. Then I awoke with an itch in my anal canal! I cuddled with Roger, and woke him up, too. "I've got an itch up my ass that needs scratching," I told him.
"It's the Crisco," Roger said. "I read about that. Now I know that it's true!"
"You bastard!" I said, playfully.
Roger lit the kerosene lamp on the dresser. He fetched the toy-box, which was still in the living room. He produced the twelve-inch dildo. "This has your name on it, Jake Two Spirits," he said. I fondled Roger's cock. It was hard, and throbbing. "Don't forget, I popped one of those little blue pills, and I've been waiting for my chance to get this toy into you all night," he said.
How could I not agree? Roger placed the dildo next to my thigh, just to measure it for size. Then he placed it next to my groin. His eyes widened when he saw it stretched over my abdomen. "Would you look at that!" he exclaimed. I was more apprehensive than cheerful about the prospect.
"Don't worry, Jake," Roger said. "I won't give it to you until you say you're ready for it."
We embraced, and kissed, fondled, and sucked cock in a 69 while Roger stroked my ass like it was his private property, which (by now) it was. His lust was infectious. Roger promised me a slow, gentle dildo-fuck, if I would promise to take it all the way. Roger held the dildo to my groin again. It took the measure of my abdomen. He put part of it into my mouth. It was dauntingly thick. He kissed it dramatically. Then he covered it with a condom and coated it with Crisco, and pushed a fistful of Crisco up my ass. I winced and yelped when he pushed it through my sphincter. He ignored my cries and pushed it in, about three inches. He looked with amazement when my face and upper chest turned beet-red. He told me to tighten my ass around the dildo. When I did, it seemed to ease the pain.
"Only nine more inches to go," Roger said, playfully. He pushed until I winced and yowled. "That felt like eight more inches," I said when I settled down." "We're half way there," Roger said. He rotated the dildo inside me.
"Take it easy, Roger. You know I'm a dildo-virgin," I said. "That feels like an earthquake." I don't know which pleased him more: the physical power that he had over me, or the thought that he found a way to take my virginity. He pulled the dildo all the way out, and pushed it back in, slowly. I groaned, but got acclimated to it.
Gradually by fractions, Roger gained inches on me. "Never mind about that," he said when I asked him how far. I reached down to feel for myself, and guessed we had three inches left to go. It took us more effort than we had expected, but the control was all his while the pain was all mine! I concentrated on breathing, and took staccato breaths whenever the pressure got rough.
When Roger announced that I had taken all twelve inches, I reached down to feel the base of the dildo, and breathed a sigh of relief. I thought we were done, but Roger was just getting started. Now that he got me, he wanted to play - and started to fuck me with the dildo. Demanding as he was, even Roger knew that twelve inches was a daredevil stretch, not a length that would give me pleasure. He retracted to seven or eight inches, and told me to keep in eye-contact. He held still for several minutes which I relaxed. He alternated between short, quick fucking movements and slow rotations of the dildo. Then he pulled it all the way out. He inspected my anal gape, and bragged about the anatomical changes that now marked my body. He pushed the dildo back in, and held it still. He repeated the cycle six or seven times, each time commenting on my anal gape. "What I gotta do?" I asked when it I realized that he wasn't going to stop. "I want to see you get off while I fuck you with the dildo," Roger said. I relaxed and got used to it. I started to like it. My cock hardened. Roger fondled it.
I thought I would end the dildo-play with a quick jerk-off, but something unexpected happened. When Roger held the dildo still in my anal canal, it seemed to bounce with erotic sensations. They registered on my consciousness as touch, not as sound, like "Snap, crackle, pop! Pop!" I told Roger about it. Together we figured it out: if he fucked my energetically with the dildo, and waited quietly, I responded with "Snap, crackle, pop!" in my ass. Roger had read up on the use of dildos on an internet site, and announced that I was experiencing anal orgasms. I had always assumed that anal orgasms were mythical, but not I learned first-had that they're not. We continued to play for a blissful session that seemed timeless, until I was ready to cum. Roger sucked me off. I gave him quite a big load. He showed it to me in his mouth before he swallowed. Roger removed the dildo, very slowly, and fucked me while he kissed me. We shared the taste of my jizz while he bred me.
Sleep was not far away. Roger asked if I would do this again. "Not anytime soon," I said. "It cost me a groaning. In the end, I liked it, but I prefer to think of it as experimental."
"Like sexual spanking?" Roger asked. "You liked that, too, didn't you, Jake?"
"For that, I'll do tricks for you, Roger," I said, "but no more than once a month. I don't want our relationship to get too kinky."
"Next time we do something like this, I promise you a necklace with pearls of many colors," Roger said.
"Hmm hmmm," I replied, and drifted into sleep.