Polaroid Party, Part One
(Chapter 3 of "1973: The Summer of Cock." Previous chapters, "Up the Waterfall" and "The Long Way Home" are available here at Hamster. Thanks for reading!)
I must’ve fallen asl**p after they both had me the way they wanted. It was my first time. First and second. Maybe third too. Does one count acts or cocks? I zoned back out.
Later, I woke slowly, keeping my eyes shut. I was afraid I had dreamed the whole thing, though the sting in my ass strongly suggested I hadn’t. Later, I would know Jake had taken it easy on me, but at the time, I felt he’d punished my ass out of meanness. Not that I minded. At least, I hadn’t then, though now that the fun part was over, the pain seemed excessive.
The Stones were now playing on the stereo. I had that album at home. Home—at least 30 miles and long hitch away. Unless Jake came through and gave me that ride he promised me before, well, before he brought me back to the cabin and rode me.
I wondered how old they were. 20s, no doubt, maybe 25 each. Seems so young now, but I was an innocent 15, making them *way* older than me. I smiled to myself thinking that older guys wanted to play with me.—Can one get any more naïve than that???
My eyes still closed, I tried to locate them by their smells. The bearded guy had a warm, fresh scent. I liked that a lot. Jake had a sour scent, not *really* sour but comparatively so. It didn’t attract me. Everything about him made me nervous.
The bearded guy was to my right, and as I listened I could hear him breathing. It was sl**p-breathing, a soft near-snore. Jake was to my left, still, silent, radiating heat.
Had this really happened? Had this one stranger let me suck my first cock while his buddy slipped his own a little ways up my ass?
I was thinking I could have died happy right then. After being shy and awkward all my life, here I was in a strange cabin with two older guys who were nice enough to fuck me. Can you beat that?
Naturally, I assumed some disaster must follow. How could one have so much sudden joy without reaping a terrible punishment?
“Two words,” Jake said.
His voice was sl**py. Indeed, his voice was muffled by the pillow he’d buried his face in.
The bearded guy laughed. “Polaroid party!”
“You think the k** is ready?” Jake asked.
The bearded guy said, “No one’s ready for their first one—it’s part of the charm!” He laughed low in his throat, then louder and louder, rolling slightly side to side.
I drifted off to sl**p again.
I woke up itching. On a board. Naked I think. With something smooth running down my left leg.
“You done with him, yet?” Jake asked.
I opened my eyes a crack and saw the bearded guy sitting between my bare legs. Shaving one. What the hell?
“Just about. Not much to shave off this k**, really.”
“Make him baby smooth just the same. Can’t redo the first time—might as well make it perfect.”
The bearded guy chuckled and spoke to himself. “Mr. DeMille, I’m ready for my close-up!”
I zoned out again.
I woke up rocking gently. This wasn’t the bed. For one thing, it wasn’t nearly as soft. For another, I smelled water, the lake. Damn, I was back on the boat.
Back on that white flat thing in the middle where the bearded guy when he flashed cock at me and my life as I knew it ended.
Something tight bound my feet. Not ropes, shoes. Damned church shoes, I guessed. Where the hell did those come from? I certainly wasn’t wearing them when I left home.
There were voices on the boat. Not just Jake’s and the bearded guy’s, either. Couple more, maybe three. All male. Laughing low, gulping beer.
“Now here’s the rule,” Jake said. He wasn’t talking to me but I listened close. What the hell was that on my chest? It was like duct tape on my nipples. And I had a jacket on it, a big shirt, something soft and floppy.
“Dutch and I caught this little fish fair and square. He’s ours long as we want him.”
There was a general grudging consent to that point.
“But we’re generous guys, like to share with our friends.”
“Damn right,” said one. “Yee-haw,” said another.
“But rules is rules.”
“Jake and his fucking rules,” I heard someone mutter.
“Can it,” said the voice next to his.
I eased an eye open so slightly I gazed through a bush of eyelash. That wasn’t a dress shoe on my foot. At least, not a guy’s shoe.
“This here is a Polaroid party,” Jake said. “I’ve got the camera and I can take all the pictures of our little fish I want.”
“Yeah,” interrupted one of the new strangers, smacking his lips. “Flopping all over the boat.”
“Dutch and I get first crack, then it’s fuck and let fuck all around, got it?”
“Yeah, yeah, why do you have to make everything out to be like a job? Rules, and this silly uniform you got the fish in.”
Jake fumed. “You don’t like his outfit? You don’t want to run your cock up and down those shaved thighs and ass?”
“May be shaved, but all I see is a damn dress on a boy.”
“Don’t forget the wig,” said another.
“And those ‘come fuck me’ shoes!”
“O, we’re gonna fuck him allright.”
“You sure that’s a he?”
Jake and Dutch verified that they had already had me in bed and that I was a young virgin fag.
“Was a virgin, you mean,” one of the guys said.
Jake shot back, “You know the rule. Any dick inside him the first twelve hours can say it fucked virgin ass.”
“Or face,” Dutch said.
“Whatever,” Jake said. “And I’ll get a snapshot of each and every load we dump on our sweet little fish. Something for him to remember us by.”