"Of course, if you two get married you won't have to worry about that," chirped Mrs. Walsh from the passenger seat of the car, and with that my backseat companion Connie Walsh looked over at me, and we both stifled laughter while rolling our eyes at the thought of that.
It would never happen, although Connie's Mom seemed to mention it a lot, and there were a couple of very good reasons for that. The one reason was that while I liked Connie as a friend, the fact was that I was primarily attracted to members of my own gender.
Connie was the same way, only she had absolutely no interest in guys. If you think that it was strange that we would be boyfriend and girlfriend in the summer of 1971, let's just say that it was a different era, and after learning that we were both pretty much gay, we had developed a bond.
Connie mentioned one time that her parents, especially her mother, were always pressuring her to date. We were both firmly entrenched in our respective closets, so nobody had any idea that we were "that way", but I too had gotten pressure from my mother to ask girls out.
It was then that we decided to become pretend boyfriend and girlfriend. It had worked out well because we had been in some of the same classes back in high school, so when we went up to her bedroom to "study", that's actually what we were doing. Studying.
To be honest, we did mess around once the night her folks threw her graduation party, and we ended up playing a game of "show me yours and I'll show you mine". Connie's pussy was the first I had ever touched, and while it didn't do much for me, I did like the fact that she was really hairy down there, although when I told her that she didn't seem too thrilled.
Connie wasn't very impressed with what I had to offer at this show-and-tell session, commenting after I dropped my underwear, "yours is kinda small, isn't it?"
"How would you know?" I asked, and when I pressed her for details since she had said she never had been with a boy, she finally confessed that she had seen her Dad naked once, and his was way bigger.
"That's okay though," Connie said when she saw how embarrassed I was about her realizing how modest my very modest endowment was, not that I wasn't already aware of my shortcomings. "If I had to touch one I would want to touch one like yours because it's less gross."
Connie didn't think it was less gross after we got each other off though, complaining after her hand job caused a geyser of semen to spray her hand and arm, but that was the extent of our sexual contact. A mediocre hand job and a poorly performed fingering.
So we were in the backseat of her parents car, on the way up to Lake George for a day of swimming. It was supposed to be a graduation present of sorts for us, and that was probably an okay situation when you're a kid, but when you're both 18, if you went to a place like Lake George, you wanted to go with your peers and not your parents, according to Connie, and I had to agree.
I thought her folks were okay, even if her Mom was a bit of a pain. Connie's Dad was a good guy, even if he wasn't really my type, with me having found myself attracted to men larger than myself physically.
While Mr. Walsh had a hairy chest, judging by the way the black fur always peeked out of the neck of his shirts, he wasn't a big guy, only about as tall as my 5'9" or so, and was much thinner than me.
That was the year that I had gotten tired of being a pudgy kid and had embarked on a weight lifting program and the local gym. To my surprise, I stuck with it, probably because I ended up in the locker room afterward checking out other guys, but whatever the reason, it worked and I evolved from being a butterball at 17 to a decently built 18 year old during my senior year of high school.
While I wasn't at the level of a real bodybuilder, my body was better than it had ever looked (or ever would look) and I enjoyed the attention I got from both sexes. Of course, there are parts of the body that no amount of work could improve, but I was beginning to get over my insecurities about that.
We arrived at some quieter area of the lake that Mr. Walsh knew about, and after we set our stuff at the picnic table we all headed to the bathhouse to change. Connie went with her Mom and I went with her Dad into our respective changing rooms, and I went into my familiar game of casually undressing while watching Mr. Walsh peel his clothes off.
Mr. Walsh was about 50, but was in pretty good shape for his age, I noted as he peeled off his shirt and revealed a fit upper torso. The mostly black pelt of hair that covered his chest drew my attention, and as he dropped his slacks I smiled at the rich coating of hair on his calves.
Probably because I had about as little body hair as an adult could have, I had always been attracted to hairy guys, proving the old adage about opposites attracting correct. I had already discovered from my limited experiences up to that point that the only thing better than looking at a hairy guy was to feel that fur against my skin, and I could feel my dick twitching already as I undid the imaginary knot in my laces and stood up.
I wonder whether my looking at other guys was as subtle as I thought it was back then, and I suspect it wasn't. I was a little disappointed when Mr. Walsh turned away before dropping his boxers, but it wasn't because of modesty because he turned back toward me as he made some idle talk about the warm weather.
Connie was right. My eyes kept going over to Mr. Walsh no matter how spastically I kept trying to jerk my head away from staring at Mr. Walsh's cock. I had seen bigger, but what was swinging between his thighs was an impressive piece of meat, probably close to 6" of flaccid bronze-hued manhood.
What was the most amazing thing was the head of his uncut cock, which was enormous. The fat bell-shaped bulb was so plump it made Mr. Walsh's cock look like a apple on a stick, and it wasn't because the shaft was skinny like mine.
Mr. Walsh obviously saw me staring at him, but that didn't make him in any hurry to put his swimming trunks. To the contrary, he stood there with trunks in hand chatting about the temperature, watching me undress with painful slowness while I hoped he would put his trunks on and leave so I could get undressed.
Clearly, he had no intention of leaving, and unlike me, he made no attempt to hide watching me, even commenting favorably on how muscular I had become while I tried to casually turn away from Mr. Walsh as I dropped my underwear.
It didn't work, and to make it worse, my hands refused to work, causing me to drop my trunks several times while Mr. Walsh's eyes took in everything I had, much to my shame.
To be honest, it wasn't the fact that Connie's father was able to see how little my dick was that made me cringe the most, it was the fact that my dick was as hard as blue steel, pointing straight out and springing around while I tried to jump into my trunks, having become fully engorged thanks to seeing Mr. Walsh's incredible cock for the first time.
I remember him smiling, thankfully not laughing, and as we left the bathhouse Mr. Walsh had his arm around my shoulder, telling me how glad he was to get to spend the day with me and his family.
I spent the majority of the day in the water up to my neck, first talking with Connie, who was not all that thrilled with spending the day with her folks, and swimming was not her favorite thing to do either, partly because she was chubby.
"Thanks for coming up here with me," Connie said as the water lapped at her chin.
"This is okay," I said. "Your dad is cool."
"We thought you guys got lost getting changed," Connie said. "Took you long enough. What were you two doing, checking each other out?"
"I don't think your Dad is that type," I opined.
"You can say that again," Connie said. "Oh-oh! Company."
