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                    BASTARDS WHO FUCKED OVER ME
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2    Gilbert and Me on the Army Cot

Gilbert and I became acquainted by sort of belonging in the same
pack of kids who ran around the neighborhood together.  Since we
were in the same grade and he lived next door, we often studied
together.  Because our house was minimal and I didn't have my own
room, my father made a small den for me at the back of his
workshop attached to our freestanding garage.  In there I had a
bookcase, desk, chair, shortwave radio, and an old army cot.

It wasn't too long after we became real friends that Gilbert and
I were having jack-off parties before or after our study
sessions.  I had recently acquired a small microscope and was
busy collecting things to put on slides and stare at.  It was a
natural extension of our curiosity to wonder what our sperm
looked like.  This, of itself, didn't lead to anything unusual.
But what Gilbert had to tell me that winter after he had been
absent from school and our study hall sessions _did_ lead
someplace.  He caught a terrible cold and said his mother gave
him an enema every day he was home sick.

I was astounded.  Only once had I ever had an enema.  That was
after I'd been hospitalized with asthma once and was so afraid of
those big white things running around sticking me with needles
and shit that Glub only knows what they would have done to my
hiney.  So I held my shit for four days.  When I got home I found
out I had a log jam.  Mother knew what to do.  She got the hot
water bottle, an item I was used to, and attached a long red hose
to it, which I was not used to.  She told me to lean over the bed
where she'd laid out a thick towel.  The next thing I knew she
was poking something into my butthole.  It felt sort of like
those cold, gooey, thermometers the nurses were always sticking
in my butt at the hospital.  Those always felt sorta good in a
weird way.  The enema nozzle was okay, too, but I didn't like my
first enema.  It hurt but it did the job.

I sort of kidded Gilbert about it.  I asked, Did it feel good,
Why did she give you so many, and What did she do that for if you
could shit okay.  He told me she believed strongly in "cleaning
you out" when you got a cold or the flu.  That's why he and his
sister -- even his father -- got them fairly often.  They didn't
think much about it and, I guess, thought this was the most
natural thing in the world.  I happened later, diplomatic
simpleton that I am, to bring up the subject in front of my
mother and his mother together.  Mrs V said the next time _i_ got
a cold she would be glad to give me one.  Gilbert snickered.  I
kicked him in the butt when nobody was looking.

We soon went back to our evening sessions lying around in my den.
We'd almost always have a wank to relieve the tension as part of
the evening's activities.  One evening I told him about my
hospital stay and the thermometers and the enema.  I wanted to
see what he thought of that, like was I strange or something for
thinking stuff put in my ass felt good.  He sheepishly admitted
that he sort of liked it when his mother stood him up in the
bathtub and came at him with the Great Red Bag.  He held out his
index fingers to describe the nozzle she used.  I determined that
he got the big, thick one; like the one that hung in our shower
stall which I never saw used and wasn't going to ask question
about.

We made a logical extension of things going into asses right into
the old subject of cornholing.  We agreed that maybe people
_could_ cornhole each other.  With very little further ado, the
next thing I knew, Gilbert stood up with his erect cock in his
fist and said--

               Turn over.  I want to stick this in you.

                                                       Those were
the words to change my life. The chalice of my virginity had been
elevated, and Gilbert was about to bless it and take it with his
personal athame.  I shuddered.  I didn't want him to notice how
apprehensive I was.  I felt strangely thrilled.  His cock didn't
look _too_ big to me...  It was about the size of the handle on
my dad's carborundum stone, a nice normal handful.  The head of
it winked out from his foreskin and the little blind eye shed a
tear.

He laid upon my back.  I could feel his breath on my neck and in
my ear.  He sort of rudely placed both his legs between mine and
made me spread.  He fumbled with his dick.  I could feel the
blunt end of it probing for my hole and his bony knuckles
pressing into my asscheeks.  He struggled and didn't seem able to
proceed.  Then he raised up on his knees.  I looked over my
shoulder to see him hork into his hand and rub a mix of spit and
lung butter on his cock.  He laid back down, probed for my hole,
and made a really smooth entry.

I think for the first time in my life I knew the meaning of the
word Fulfilled.  Gilbert began stroking in and out of me slowly
and carefully.  As he became more excited he lengthened and
quickened his strokes.  Almost instinctively I began to throw my
butt up to him.  Soon we were making slapping noises as my buns
and his abs smacked together.  He was breathing convulsively
against my cheek.  I think he was really into what he was doing
and as much into doing it to me.  But we somehow knew better than
to say sweet nothings and show ourselves "real queer" or weak.

He began to growl softly deep in his throat.  He threw himself
down on me with finality and ground his hips into mine.  I could
feel his cock throbbing and feel his copious jets thwacking
against my cavity walls.  Even after he was spent, Gilbert stayed
on me and sort of in me for several minutes.  At last he withdrew
very carefully.  He wouldn't let me touch his softened cock
because it was too tender.  I always thought turn-around was fair
play so I asked him to provide the same sort of entertainment for
me.  Gilbert begged off.  He said he'd just cum and didn't want
to do anything more.  I let it go at that until the next evening.

After dinner I was reading my biology text out in the den.  I got
bored with the assignment and flipped to the pages where there
were four photographs of the steps in performing artificial
respiration.  These were US Coast Guard photos.  The young men
exhibiting their form were the tastiest men I'd seen theretofore.
The front of my pants began to stiffen.  Gilbert walked in just
in time to see me looking at the pictures with my hand in my fly.
He stood in front of me and rubbed his crotch lightly and asked
if I wanted to play.  Sure, I said.  He popped open the buttons
on his 501s and dug his dick out of his Y-fronts.  His cock was
brown and hooded and shiny like the front of a great centipede.
The hairs that came through the piss opening in his shorts even
lent the aura of many wild little legs.

Suck on it, he said.  What?  Put a prick in my _mouth_?!  I don't
think so.  Oh, go on, he said, I just washed it.  Little bastard
thought of everything.  It did smell sort of like soap.  And a
tad musky.  I figured maybe it wouldn't taste _too_ bad, and if
sucking his dick was what would create a debt I could exploit, I
was all for it.  I timidly opened my lips a bit and kissed the
head of it.  Well, it didn't bite.  It felt firm and gooshy all
at the same time.  I opened my mouth and let him put it in my
face til it hit the back of my throat and I gagged and coughed.
I guess I bit him a little as well.  OUCH, dammit! he said, Watch
what you're doing!  Sorree...  I started moving my lips up and
down on it, being careful to keep my teeth away from it.  I could
taste a combination of soap and healthy Mexican boy.  His dick
was strangely rigid yet pliant.  It was like silk-covered gristle
and was very hot and pulsating on my tongue.

I began to worry about what would happen and how it would taste
if he came in my mouth.  I didn't want him to do that.  I gave
him a few more head jerks and said my jaw was tired.  (Big Lie
Number One.)  I really wanted him to stick it up my ass again.
But before he did that and got too tired to play, I wanted a
chance to stick my dick in him and see what it was like to have
it inside somebody.  I lazily jacked him off while I whined about
wanting him to let me stick it in him just this once.  Finally
Gilbert agreed to let me, but he said if it hurt I had to stop.
Gee, the great big butch manchild is afraid the silly little
fagboy will hurt him.  Nothing like that was said, but this is
what went unsaid.

Gilbert laid on the cot face down and I climbed aboard.  We had
our pants and shorts down around our knees and our shoes still on
just in case we'd have to straighten up suddenly if somebody --
like my father -- were to walk in.  I'd just about peed myself
when Gilbert walked in earlier and I didn't want an embarrassing
scene.  We both knew to have it seen what we were doing would go
over like a turd in the prom punch bowl.  Resourceful little fuck
that I was, I snagged a jar of Vaseline from the house and stowed
it under the cot.  I put a gob on my finger and spread Gilbert's
beautiful buttspheres with the other.  His little starfish winked
at me slightly.  I was enthralled with the view of his smooth,
pinkish-brown nutsac, his taut little taint, and that nervous
little dimple he had for an asshole -- all of it done in tones of
smoothest bronze.  Oh, God, Gilbert, I said, You're _beautiful_.
He just broke up laughing and gave me the business for looking at
his ass and calling it pretty.

I proceeded to spread the Vaseline on his starfish and to work a
little of it into his hole.  I slowly pushed my index finger all
the way into his ass, about as far as I figured my little dick
would reach if I was lucky.  I must have hit his prostate because
he lurched and snapped for me to be careful -- I almost made him
cum.  But I didn't understand what he was talking about.  I laid
down on him and moved my dick to where I felt the stickiness and
kept asking Is that it? is that it?  Finally I guess I got
centered, and so I pushed.  Glub he was tight.  I thought my cock
was going to fold like a penknife.  I complained and asked him to
loosen up.  I can't just loosen up, you idiot, he said.  He told
me to finger his hole and maybe that would loosen it up for me.

When I could get two fingers into him, I decided to try again.
After all, his crack and my dick were all over grease and we
might as well DO something.  This time I could tell where the
hole was and pushed the head of my dick into it.  Reflexively,
Gilbert's sphincter snapped tight on me.  I had to stop and wait
for him to get more control.  Finally I buried all of my stuff in
his butt right up to my balls.  As if on cue, I swear my dick
engorged itself even more, sort like the dogs we saw screwing
last week when we nearly died laughing.  I wondered if I would
get "stuck" and my father would find us like this.  Gilbert's
hind end began to take serious notice of my little intrusion.  I
could feel his rectal structures kneading my putz as if to taste
it and map its topography.  A little more of that, a few up and
down strokes, and I lost my goo into his bowel.

Did you cum, he asked.  Yeah, I said.  Okay, he said, Then get
off.  So much for romance, you little shit.  Now it's my turn, he
said.  He stuck his dick in the Vaseline jar and gave it a spin.
Lay down, he said. Gilbert gave me an even better screw than the
one the night before.  While we were in the middle of it and
really getting into it, I heard a rustling in the grass outside
the back of the workshop/den section of the garage.  I'm not
sure, but I think my father had snuck out of the house and around
back and peeked in between the outer door and frame to see what
we were up to.  If so, he never mentioned it to me.  He was the
kind who would have never said anything, ever, or would have
killed me on the spot.  I broke away from Gilbert and went
quietly to the front door into the workshop.  I doubled back to
see if I could detect the intruder.  No one was there.  The dog
was in the house.  To this day I have no idea whether there was
someone there or if it was my nervous imagination.

I came back and we finished what we were doing.  Later on Gilbert
invited me to stay at his house next door overnight.  He had his
own bedroom separate from their house.  I slept on a foldaway bed
in the living room of our house.  The first night we spent
together in his bed was wonderful.  His parents and sister went
off to some church meeting leaving us to our own devices.
Gilbert said, C'mon, let's go to the main house for a while.  I
threw myself down on the couch in front of the black-and-white
teevee and looked at "Uncle Miltie" Milton Berle or somebody act
a fool while Gilbert was busy in the bathroom.  Shortly he called
to me.  I went to see what was going on.  He had a funny look in
his eye and was holding the enema hose.  I'm going to fuck you
all night long, he said, And I want you clean.

I bent over the bath tub and he put the big douche nozzle halfway
into my shivering butt.  I remembered how awful the first enema
I'd had was, and I didn't want to suffer like that again.  But I
wanted him to fuck me a whole lot more.  When I complained I
couldn't hold any more, he pulled the pipe out of me and I spewed
it into the toilet.  I wiped and got up, ready to put my pants
up.  We aren't done yet, he said.  I'm going to hose you til you
run clear, no more shit.  Well, it wasn't that uncomfortable this
time, so I let him wash me out twice more.  Then we went out to
his bedroom, shucked our clothes in record speed, and fell into
bed together.

I went for his cock in a big way.  I was beginning not to mind
sucking it too much.  I gave him some heavy lip action and
tickled his nuts and ran my hands over his tits.  He seemed to
like the auxilliary attention.  I just played a hunch with the
tits thing, hoping he would rub mine which is a big turn-on for
me.  I guess Gilbert just didn't take hints well or he was
selfish.  He pulled his dick out of my mouth, reached under the
bed for some Jergen's Lotion, and was on top of me for the first
of several fucks that night.  By Saturday morning we were pretty
well wrecked.

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