Pipe Crew, Part III

I was right. Feeling Rusty’s cock pumping into my ass felt good. Really good. I didn’t know how it was making me feel like that, but having his cock rubbing my tender prostate was sending good vibrations all through my young body. I was laying on my back while he knelt between my legs. I had my thighs wrapped around his waist and my heels digging into his back, trying to get him deeper into my ass. Each stroke made me feel both increased pleasure and pain as my cock strained with excitement. His pumps inflated my own tool. If this is how girls feel when they get fucked, I can see why they like it so much.

Rusty didn’t last long. Fifteen or twenty deep strokes and he blasted my colon with his second cum of the night. Then he collapsed on me, his hot, heavy breath on my neck. I felt his tongue flick my neck and my ass contracted around his cock. I didn’t know what to do. I had no idea if there was etiquette involved. Was I his boyfriend now? Was I gay? Our stomachs trapped my hard cock between us and I relished the tightness and the pressure.

“That was fucking awesome Pauly! Fucking AWESOME!” he exhalted as he withdrew. “I guess it’s your turn now.” He laid back and spread his legs, slowly fondling his diminished cock and half-empty balls. “You ready for this?”

Suddenly, I wasn’t. Don’t get me wrong, I really wanted to have sex and I thought Rusty was a pretty hot guy, but I wanted my first time to be with a girl. I would love to fuck Rusty second or third, but my first time needed to be with someone of the opposite sex.

“I don’t know Rusty. You know?” He looked at me kind of funny and then grinned.

“Don’t worry Pauly, we ain’t fags or nothing. We are just a couple of buds helping each other out. If you want, I can suck your dick again and then we can go to sleep.” I nodded and he did. Then we went to sleep in the loft, with the cool end of summer breeze washing away the stench of our passion.

The next morning we went about our business like nothing had happened. I didn’t look at him for fear I’d catch him staring at me funny and making me feel weird for sucking his dick and letting him fuck me. We made it through the last two regular days of work before school started without either of us acting differently than the rest of the summer. It took those two days before the tingling in my ass went away. As the tingling faded, I started to miss it. If Rusty wanted to do it again, I was sure I’d let him.

My first day of high school was like a day out of a movie. I rode the bus from the country to the school and when I got there, it was the biggest school I had ever seen. I was packing a lunch, just like I was going to work, and carrying a new backpack full of school supplies. Centerville High is three stories tall and about a million years old. I think Moses used to teach there. There were eight hundred students in the four grades and each had a primary floor where their lockers were. Except the seniors. Behind the original Centerville High School, there were two long wings that led on one side to the gyms, locker rooms, auditorium and swimming pool. On the other side to the wing housed the cafeteria, home-ec, ag department, welding and trades, auto shop, A/V, journalism and yearbook. The senior lockers were strung down those two long corridors. At the far end, the big gym connected the two sides, making a central courtyard where the seniors liked to hang out.
I wasn’t the only kid lost in that maze on my first day. All of the teachers stood outside their classrooms and helped us fresh fish find our way around. A bookish little girl who had ridden into town on my bus had the locker next to mine. She took pity on me as I struggled correctly work the combination to open my locker

“Hey. Need help?” she whispered.

“Yeah, I’ve never opened a locker before,” I admitted a little obviously.

“You must have gone to Roosevelt last year,” she said with certainty. I looked at her puzzled. How could she know that? “Roosevelt doesn’t have lockers with locks. My cousin went there. Krissy Schultz. I’m Katie Schultz.”

“Yeah, I know Krissy,” I smiled as I replied. “She’s cool.” She was more than cool. She was hot. She was the eighth grade version of Jessica Simpson. Curvy blonde and unavailable. Rumor had it she was going out with a college guy.

“Yeah she’s cool,” my savior admitted. “She’s every boy’s wet dream.” She seemed envious when she said that.

“Hey!” I objected. “You shouldn’t sell yourself short. Krissy’s got nothing on you. You aren’t hard to look at either.” Katie blushed and flung my locker open.

“I gotta run. See you later.” She started to melt into the passing throng of freshmen.

“Hey Katie! My name is Paul David. It’s nice to meet you!” I yelled at her back before she got away. She turned and smiled.

“I know who you are.” What did that mean? How did she know who I was?

The morning was a blur. English, Typing, Algebra 1, Biology 1 and then lunch. Every teacher gave the same speech about doing homework and getting it turned in on time. Every day late was a letter grade off. Blah blah blah. When it was finally my lunch period, I went back to my locker and retrieved my lunch pail and thermos of lemonade and started for the cafeteria with the rest of the herd. On the way, I heard some comments about my style of dress and my workman’s lunch bucket. I began to feel a little out of place until I got to the senior hall.

“Hey, look at Farmer Joe with his lunchbox!” shouted one senior with a full beard. To my thirteen year old eyes, he looked to be 25 years old. I just kept walking.

“Where’s Farmer Joe and his lunch box?” I heard another voice shout. A familiar voice. I turned my head and confirmed it was Jack Baldwin. “You got some of your mom’s great sandwiches in there?” I nodded. “Good, come with us. I could use a nice sandwich.” I was so grateful he could eat my entire lunch if he wanted. He slipped his arm around my shoulders and we walked down the corridor like old friends. We picked up Joe and James as we strolled and all entered the giant cafeteria together.

“Hey Jack! Is that another Baldwin? I didn’t know you had another brother,” purred a kitten in a tight sweater and short skirt.

“Nah, Barb. He’s our cousin. From Sweden. His name is Bjorn Thorhammer!