I was sitting on the front porch, mindlessly rocking in the old rocker, thinking about what happened between us in the shower earlier in the day. I remembered how it felt to have Grady's body pressed against mine. I remembered the way his lips felt against mine both times he kissed me, once with crushing urgency, and again with gentle seduction. It was the only experience I had ever had that came anywhere close to sex.
The warm quiet day was becoming louder as someone raced across the potholed blacktop that paved our road. It was Grady, I realized, as he pulled into the driveway on a dirt bike, its engine roaring with life. The disturbance was such a sharp contrast from what we were used to that Grandma came out of the house to see what all the commotion was.
He was shirtless, wearing nothing but an old pair of jeans and some ratty sneakers. His face hidden by the helmet he was wearing. Judging the way his muscles seemed a little more pumped than usual, I surmised he had just finished with a workout.
He killed the motor and removed the helmet as I walked down from the porch to meet him.
"I thought I'd return this," he said, pulling my sketchbook from beneath him and handing it to me, looking a little embarrassed.
"You know, you could have kept it," I told him, looking at the book in my hands.
"Really? Well in that case, thank you" he said, snatching the book from me, offering me one of his big, crooked smiles. I smiled back, watching him stuff the book back under his ass, that beautifully sculpted, muscular ass.
"Wanna go for a ride?"
"Um, is it safe?" I had never been on a motorbike before, and the presence of the helmet, but lack of a shirt was giving me some mixed messages.
"I won't let anything happen to you," he said, in a reassuring voice, "I promise."
I looked back at Grandma, who had commandeered the old rocker. She waved us away.
"Okay, then. So where do I get on?"
Grady scooted up on his seat a bit, which tucked his jeans tighter around his crotch, and patted the seat behind him and handed me his helmet. I swung my leg over the bike. He stood and kicked the engine to a roar, vibrating the seat against my ass and balls. He sat back down and I wiggled in close. Grady reached back and pulled my arms around his waist.
"Hold on," he called back at me. The bike lurched, nearly throwing me off the bike, and I pulled myself up against his strong back, holding on for dear life. "That's better."
With another jerk, we were moving out of the dirt driveway and down the street. It didn't escape my notice that he wasn't driving nearly as fast as when he arrived at the house. I assumed it was because he now had a passenger, but I allowed myself to consider maybe it was because of who his passenger was.
We traveled down our road, heading toward the highway, then took a left on the only street that connects to ours, and followed it until it dead ended at the woods. The vibration from the motor was doing a number on my ass and balls, and sitting so close to Grady, my arms wrapped tightly around his waist, I quickly came to full erection, my cock pushing into the small of his back. He took one of his hands off the handles to lower my hands down to his crotch, to show me that he was also sprouting wood.
I was expecting him to stop, or turn around, but he just kept on into the woods. Following a little dirt trail that led deep into the thicket, we came to a pond I hadn't known existed. He slowed and came to a stop in the shadow of the tall pines near the pond's edge.
I got off the bike, my loins still vibrating, my cock hard as a rock and tenting the shorts I was wearing. I watched him dismount, his crotch was bulging. Grady did a little dance, shaking a leg as he tried to readjust his own erection.
"You know, if you wanted to go skinny dipping, we could have just gone back to Little Big Pond," I commented with a nervous laugh.
"Little Big Pond?" he asked, sounding confused. It didn't take me long to realize why.
"That's what we call the pond behind my grandmother's house" I explained, "It's pretty big for a pond, but not big enough for a lake. We even have a fishing cabin out there that we call the Lake House. It's mostly used for storing tackle and stuff like that, but there's also a bunk bed set that Wade and I used to 'camp out' in, on my Summer visits when we were kids." Yes, I used air quotes.
"Bunk beds, huh?" Grady asked with a smile, "Are you trying to suggest something, Mr. Meade?" he continued, speaking in a refined Georgian accent, imitating a southern gentleman.
"Not at all, Mr. Thompson," I responded, without the Georgian accent.
"That's too bad," he said, closing the distance between us to pull me into his arms. His lips met mine, brushing gently against them before slipping his tongue into my mouth. The kiss was brief, but effective. "I'd very much like it if you showed me this secret hideaway someday,"
