IYLS CH 21: TIM TAM SLAM

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Hi Everyone,

Here’s my flash with the Free Fiction Friday Group!

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IF YOU LOVE SOMETHING

( IYLS )

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SUMMARY

David and Jesse are childhood friends who get separated in their teens but meet up again at university in Newcastle, Australia.

They soon find out that though some things remain the same, other change… oh boy, do they change.

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 Previously

“You’ve been busy,” I observed as I crawled out of the tent.

“Morning, sleepyhead, I was just about to come and wake you.” With a wink and a grin, he passed me a plate with a mug of coffee resting in the center, surrounded by three hot cross buns absolutely slathered in butter, just the way I liked them. “Breakfast is served.”

“Great! Thanks, Jere.”

I took a large bite out of one of the buns, moaning appreciatively as a blend of warmed raisins, spiced bread, and melted butter filled my mouth. Neither of us spoke as we ate our buns and drank our coffees, though plenty of moaning was heard. Had either of our mothers been present, we’d have earned ourselves a cuff around the ears, for our sloppy manners.

Licking the last of the butter from my fingers, I turned to Jere. “So are you ready for a surf?”

“I’ll probably sink, but yeah,” he chuckled. “North point, let’s go.”

We each grabbed our wetsuits, and wriggled our way into them. To my surprise, Jeremy stepped behind me and grabbed the zipper from my fumbling fingers, pulling it up the last few inches. Stunning me further, he gave my butt a light smack.

“Come on, plugger, our perfect waves await.”

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CHAPTER 21: TIM TAM SLAM

As we trudged up the beach, my arms and legs felt pleasantly weary. Three hours of surfing would do that to you. Even from a distance I could see someone had set up camp about fifteen feet to the left of us. Two guys, clad in board shorts and tees with floppy hats shading their faces were seated on fold-out chairs in front of a dark-green tent. Both were reading newspapers, and sipping on cups of what looked to be either tea or coffee. I assumed it was Jeremy’s buddies.

Sure enough, as we neared them Jere called out, “You two are a pair of lazy bastards!”

Their only response was to flip him the bird, to which he laughed.

Standing our boards upright in the sand, Jeremy led me over to them. Between their hats and sunnies, it was difficult to get a decent idea of what they looked like. As Jeremy made the introductions, they each removed their sunglasses, and at last, I could see their eyes as we all shook hands.

Tony was about the same height as Jeremy, about an inch or so shorter than me, but he was bulkier than either of us, with a big chest and bulging biceps, and veritable tree trunks for thighs. He wore his mid-brown hair military short, which made him look like he was an ex- navy or marine guy.

The smaller of the two, Garth, was dark-haired and more wiry of build. He looked familiar to me, but I couldn’t place him. I studied his narrow face with its sharp cheekbones and deep-set hazel eyes, the left one having a small scar by the outer edge of the eyebrow, but the knowledge of where I knew him from hung tantalizingly out of reach. Maybe it would come to me as we conversed. He was giving me questioning looks too, so I knew he was trying to place me as well.

After shedding our wetsuits, Jeremy grabbed us each a bottle of water out of the esky, while I pulled our chairs over by Tony and Garth’s. We relaxed, each of us with our legs outstretched, trading information and getting to know each other.

“I’ve got it!” burst out Garth suddenly and we all turned our heads to look at him. “I remember where I know you from, David. You’re the bastard who always used to beat me in the pool. You went to Warners Bay High. I went to Lambton. We used to compete against each other at all the swim meets.”

“Oh my God, yes!” I exclaimed, laughing. “You’re the guy who used to try and psyche me out with death glares before a race.”

“Yeah, that’d be me,” he chuckled. “Not that it did me any good. You always bloody beat me. I used to hate drawing the same heat as you! How come you never went on to pursue it as a career?”

I shrugged. “Since I was nine I’ve wanted to be a pilot, so as much as I liked swimming, I lacked the dedication to take it further than competing at State level.”

“Pity. We had a theory about you, you know?” he confided. “We always said your red hair gave you an edge, you know, like red cars go faster.”

“Shit, you’re on to me,” I quipped and we all laughed.

I discretely looked at Garth, weighing him up. At the swim meets, he’d always been competitive to the extreme, using every trick in the book to give himself the psychological edge over his competitors. His tactics had never worked on me—I’d always been a loner—but it had certainly been effective against some of the other swimmers. In truth, he’d been a bit of an asshole. I wondered if he’d mellowed since then.

“Okay, who’s up for a sandwich?” asked Jere.

Of course, we all were, and so while Garth and Tony stoked the fire a little and got a billy of water going for a cup of coffee, Jeremy and I worked together to make everyone a couple of ham, cheese, and tomato sandwiches.

By the time the billy had boiled, we’d all wolfed them down, and Jeremy was passing out the Tim Tam biscuits. I watched with curiosity as Garth bit off the opposing corners of his before dipping one of the bitten corners into his coffee while sucking hard on the other. I actually jolted backward, nearly tipping my chair over in the process, when he suddenly pulled the biscuit out of his cup, turned it upside down and shoved the entire thing in his mouth, closing his eyes and moaning loudly. Had I not been able to see him sitting before me, and only heard him, I’d have sworn he was having one hell of an orgasm.

“What on earth was that?” I couldn’t help asking, while Jere and Tony laughed.

“A Tim Tam Slam,” mumbled Garth, still chewing. “Don’t tell me you’ve never tried it? Man, it’s as good as an orgasm!”

“Obviously, all your climaxes must be self-assisted,” snickered Tony, and Jeremy joined in, but I noticed they were picking up another biscuit each and biting off the corners. With a shrug, I grabbed one as well. We all dunked, and sucked at the same time, and by the time we were shoving the gooey, melting messes into our mouths, I was glad our campsite was a little isolated as it sounded like there was an orgy going on.

We were all laughing and licking our fingers, and with one look at each other, we dived on the packet again and repeated the whole process. Clearly, we were now all certified Tim Tam sluts.

When Garth went to grab a fourth one, Jeremy slapped his hand and pulled the biscuits away from him. “Man, you’re worse than me, and that’s saying something.” He laughed. “We need to pace ourselves, you guts, or we won’t have any left for the rest of our Surfari!”

We gave ourselves an hour for our food to settle, spending the time chatting and finishing our coffees, before suiting up again and heading back to the north point for another spot of surfing.

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The warmth of our little bonfire offset the cool night air. Looking at each guy in turn, I could see they we all feeling as mellow as I was after our barbequed steaks that we’d eaten with fried onion and a healthy serving of Mrs. G.’s potato salad. She’d shove it into my hands, along with some other goodies, just before Jeremy and I left.

“Hey Jere, did you ever end up calling that hot brunette from that night at the Lass?” asked Tony conversationally, taking a sip of his beer.

I looked from Tony to Jeremy, bracing myself to hear the equivalent of locker-room talk, but Jere was returning Tony’s look with a blank stare.

“You know, the one with the huge knockers. Man, you must remember her. She was all over you. I mean, I know a heap of them crawl all over you when we’re out, but you must remember this one. We were at the Lass O’Gowrie pub at Wickham and she had really long dark hair and the biggest tits. Don’t you remember? We were all taking bets as to whether or not they were real, and you were meant to be the judge.”

“Oh, yeah, I remember her now,” mumbled Jeremy, looking a little uncomfortable. “Why do you want to know?”

“Well, we never found out if they were real or not.”

“Um, yeah, they were real.”

“Haha, Garth, cough up, man. You owe me twenty bucks!” chortled Tony.

“Fuck, Jere, really? I’d have sworn they were fake. Man, they were up at her chin. Talk about perky—they were bloody gravity defying!” Turning to Tony, he continued, “I’ll give you the dollars tomorrow—my wallet’s in my duffle, which is in the tent, and I can’t be bothered getting off my butt right at this minute.”

“Cool, Garth. So Jere, you must have had fun with those puppies.” Tony waggled his eyebrows suggestively in what was clearly an attempt to have Jeremy elaborate.

“Um, a gentleman never tells, and besides, I was so drunk, I can hardly remember the night at all,” Jere replied with a dismissive wave of his hand.

All I felt was relief—the last thing I wanted to listen to was Jeremy waxing lyrical over the joys of a huge set of jugs.

“How come you don’t have freckles?” blurted Garth, taking us all by surprise.

“Pardon?”

“Why don’t you have freckles, David? I mean, your hair is red, but you don’t have any freckles.”

“Um, apparently way back in the gene pool there’s a Russian or two.” I felt embarrassed, but managed to refrain from tugging at my neon sign locks.

“The chicks must love it,” he continued, and I stiffened, my eyes darting to Jeremy’s. How much had he told them? How much was he comfortable with my telling them? Jere’s slight shake of the head told me they had no idea of my sexuality. It only took me a moment to decide how much I was or was not going to reveal. No way, was I going to start any new friendship with lies.

“I wouldn’t know, or even care, Garth, seeing as I’m not into girls.”

“Not into girls?” Even as he asked the question, I could see the comprehension of what my words meant, dawning on his face. “Oh,” he whispered.

“Oh, indeed,” I replied, and waited.

“You’re queer? He asked, clearly stunned.

“I most assuredly am.”

“But you don’t act like one…” he trailed off, looking to Tony and Jeremy for help.

“Well, that’s what I am. A queer.  I’m a homo, a fag, pansy, or whatever slang term you want to call me by. This might be a news flash, but it’s more polite, though, to say I’m gay. Oh, and Garth, we’re not all effeminate. That’s a stereotype. Oddly enough, we queers are as diversified as you hets. Go figure.” I probably shouldn’t have let the sarcasm creep in, but his wording and attitude rubbed me the wrong way.

Looking at each of us in turn, my sarcasm having gone over his head, he clarified, “You guys aren’t pulling my leg, are you?”

I answered for us all. “No, Garth. No Joke. I’m gay. I fuck men, and they fuck me. You should try it sometime—you might find you like it.”

A look of horror passed over his face. “Um, no thanks.”

“So are we cool, Garth?”

“Um, sure. Just don’t try to fuck me. Okay?”

I suppressed a sigh at his words. Why, why, why did so many straight men think their asses were under siege by every gay man on the planet? Rather than point out the stupidity of that notion, and extend what was an awkward turn to our conversation, I tried to lighten things up with a little humor.

“Sure, Garth. You’re not my type anyway. I like young blond gods.”

Too late, I realized my mistake.

“Oh, like our mate, Jeremy, here?” asked Tony with false innocence.

“Hardy-ha-ha,” snarked Jere. “Quit with your shit-stirring, Tony, and my hair’s more brown than blond these days. It’s just sun streaked.”

“Whatever you reckon, Jeremy,” snickered Tony.

Despite knowing Jeremy’s ‘straightness’ his words made me stiffen. Pushing my feelings aside, I tried again to deflect with humor. “Well, sure, he might fit the bill in the looks department, Tone, but I prefer my dates to be, not only willing, but eager, so being into cocks rather than huge boobs, kind of helps with that criteria!”

Everyone laughed, but I could see Garth was still somewhat thrown by my confession. He excused himself not long after, and Tony followed him almost immediately.

“Jeez, sorry about that,” whispered Jeremy “Should I have told them? I, um, didn’t know if I should or not.”

“Don’t worry about it, Jere,” I replied equally quietly. “It’s par for the course for a gay man—we get to, um, come out on a regular basis.”

We both sat silently staring into the fire, and I wondered if it hypnotized him the way it always did me; drawing me in and encouraging me to reflect on the deeper things in life. With a sigh, I dragged my eyes away to look at him. Of course, he did actually look like some beautiful pagan god with his saltwater stiffened locks looking wild and untamed as they framed his chiseled features. Oh, how I wish you were into cock.

I wasn’t particularly sleepy, but knowing I’d be doing myself a favor if I was at least drowsy before he entered the tent and stripping down to his underwear, I rose and excused myself.

Walking over the small dune behind the tent, I made quick work of brushing my teeth using a mug of water to rinse with. Having nowhere else to put the empty cup but on the sand, I walked a few paces away from it and took a leak. Ablutions done, I dropped the cup in the small washing up tub, and let myself into the tent.

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Contentment, rather than panic, flowed through my body when I woke to find Jere wrapped about me once more. I’d have happily spent the remainder of my life camping with no electricity, no hot running water, no creature comforts whatsoever, if it meant I could wake with Jeremy spooning me. I had no words for how good it felt. How right. And if anything, this time it felt better, because this time, I could feel his morning wood pressing against the crack of my ass.

Of course, I was still having a bit of a heaven and hell tug-of-war, but the torture was sweet. Fighting my body’s urge to grind my butt against his cock, and ignoring the insistent aching throb of my dick seemed a small price to pay to be able to lie in his arms. My only regret was we’d both worn boxers and tees to bed, and I couldn’t feel the bare flesh of his chest pressing against my back.

Same as the previous morning, he was lightly holding and caressing my hand. It was so gentle, so sweet. Who’d have thought my rough-and-tumble, ever the prankster, Jere would be such a cuddler? Perhaps, that was unfair. He’d always been affectionate. Always ready with a hug, or a casual arm about the shoulders. He’d always liked physical contact. This, however, was different. This was… tender. And I liked it. I liked it a lot.

Our linked hands hovered just above my bellybutton, dangerously close to the satin clad head of my cock. With a tilt of my hips, they’d make contact. As that thought occurred so did another…

With one flick of my free hand, I could slip my cock through the piss slit of my boxers… I could have Jere touch me, just this once…

And then the internal war started for real…..

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