We both adjusted our positions so we could lather each other's most intimate parts with kisses and the spit that came salivating from our mouths, mingling with our natural lubricants all the while our restless fingers circled around the rim of each other's backdoor.Just a little more pressure and our fingers would sink in. In prospect of the blissful invasion, we turned it into a game of who would desecrate the other's forbidden shrine first, yet wanted to keep each other edging for as long as possible, prolonging the sweet anticipating torture.You were first to gasp as my fingertip passed the rim and your sphincter willingly gave way to the intrusion. Your cave practically sucked my finger in. The rocking of your hips in the quest of burying my finger deeper told me you were forgetting that you were not the only one who was to receive this utmost intense pleasure. As I withdrew my finger, your disappointment didn't linger as you took the hint and realized you had neglected me—even. In spite of his lanky build, he was a talented runner and often left his would-be tacklers looking around and wondering where he'd disappeared to as he sidestepped them and whizzed on down the field. Once he was in the open, there was no catching him. I didn't doubt he'd be a first-stringer, even as a sophomore.I think one of the greatest compliments I'll ever received in this life was when we were walking across the high school parking lot one day after practice and he said, "I wish you'd been my dad, Tom." I put my arm around his shoulder and hugged him but I had to look away to hide the water that suddenly flooded my eyes."And I wish you were my son."A couple of weeks later, just before school started, I got home on a Friday afternoon and saw that my lawn had been mowed and trimmed. I knew it had to be Davey and/or Ramon, probably as payback for letting them use my exercise equipment. I really appreciated the gesture but I actually looked forward to doing the yard work myself as.
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