Page 48 of Big Britches

“Back to what I was saying earlier… I like your body, too. I love the caramel color of your skin, so soft… and your dark brown eyes, so sweet… and your neck—don’t even get me started. You’re well-proportioned and strong, but petite enough to fit into my pocket.”

Pedro laughed, resting his head on Titus’s shoulder. “I’m not that small.”

“Nope. You’re not. I can personally attest to that.”

“Dirty mind.”

“You like it.”

“Yes, I do.”

They sat there for a minute, quiet. The only sound was the persistent pulse of crickets. The sky was full of fireflies now. When Pedro stared at them, it seemed almost as if their flashing was synchronic with the crickets’ drone. Titus was holding him tight, and he felt a sense of calm that he had not felt for a very long time.

After a while, he stirred, standing.

“Where are you going?” Titus said sleepily.

“Nowhere.”

He removed his towel, folded it, and placed it at Titus’s feet. He stood there a moment longer, giving Titus plenty of time to observe. Titus said nothing, and Pedro sensed that, regardless of how imposing he was, the large man was nervous.

He knelt between Titus’s legs, reaching out, undoing the towel, and laying it open so that he too was now naked. Titus’s cock was semi-hard and growing. Pedro took it into his mouth, wanting to feel the final transformation internally. Titus sighed, relaxing deeper into the chair cushion.

Pedro sucked slowly, steadily. Though he had sex with johns as a teenager, none of those occasions were enjoyable or memorable. Knowing this was Titus’s first time with a man, he wanted it to be special, and he was prepared to do everything in his power to make it so.

He closed his lips around Titus’s cock, contouring his tongue while taking him deep, mentally suppressing his gag reflex. Titus gripped both chair arms tight, as if in the ejector seat of an airplane. Pedro pulled back slowly, cradling Titus’s testicles in his right hand before he went down again.

“Oh, man, oh, man, oh, man,” Titus chanted, squirming ever so slightly, but remaining locked down.

Pedro could taste him now. His tongue was slick and salty, and his eyes rolled back with the hormonal surge. Even though he was on his knees, the forced proximity of Titus in the chair’s confines felt somewhat empowering, giving Pedro a sense of control. He only wished he could access more of Titus, as Titus had him when they were on the pool’s edge.

Next time, he thought.

He went down again, Titus’s cock large and so hard now, difficult to manage. Pedro went as far as he could, tugging at Titus’s weighty ball-sack.

“Pedro. Sweetie. You better pull off. You need to pull off quick.”

Instead, Pedro pulled up to just the tip. He began sucking at Titus’s swollen head, ripe like a plum, stroking him full-length in his fist, applying similar pressure to the underside as Titus had done for him. Juice was flowing freely now, and Pedro was relishing it like candy, flicking his tongue in Titus’s slit and using his lips to keep a tight seal around the crown. Titus seized, groaning unintelligibly, and Pedro’s mouth filled fast, his tongue completely immersed. He swallowed quickly to avoid overflow.

Can’t have that.

It filled again, far sweeter this time, and Pedro had the luxury now to indulge and savor. He clutched at Titus’s thighs, attempting to calm and stabilize his trembling, all the while remaining fastened, coercing Titus to empty those years of pent-up frustration.

As the tremors subdued, Titus’s breathy words and moans mingled, becoming indecipherable. His hands dropped to the sides of the chair, arms hanging limply. Pedro glanced up, awaiting the peace, then finally, mercifully, opened his mouth and released him.

Titus stayed melted in that position, head back facing the stars, eyes closed, murmuring.

Pedro laid his head on the man’s thick thigh, closing his own eyes, thinking…

This is not a dream.

This is not a dream.

This is not a dream.

Eleven

For the rest of that first memorable summer evening, they swam, finished the pitcher of margaritas, and spent the night in the guest house by the pool. There, they explored each other’s bodies again, only much slower. Any residual anxiety from their initial encounters had faded with the aid of Jose Cuervo and their growing familiarity. Trust blossomed between them—an acceptance that they were just two men growing acquainted in the privacy of the Shepherd homestead.