This is the account of the second of five nights that studly 18 year old Mikey spends together with Mike, the 24-year old uncle he idolizes, and Mike's fascinating and beautiful 22-year old fiancé Alice.
The next morning I awoke with a boner. I was in a puddle of sun on the floor beside Alice's bed. Someone had thrown a comforter over me, and I had had a deep and restful night.
Lying there, I could have had no idea how I would wind up this day, lying between Alice and my young uncle, my face covered with her quim and his cum, with his seed deep within my body, and with her caressing my leg with her face and he giving me the most exquisite jacking any man ever had received.
I threw the comforter aside, rose from the carpet and stumbled, naked, to the bathroom to piss. Just when I was shaking off, my uncle opened the door and reached over with a hand on either cheek, pulled my face to his and gave me a big, fat kiss on the lips. With a smile he said, "She likes you, Mikey. Reaching down with his right hand he gave my cock a friendly squeeze. "Actually, I think she loves you!"
I pulled on a tee shirt and my shorts and walked into the sunny kitchen. Alice and Mike had been up more than an hour. Alice looked up -- God! was she beautiful! What a smile! What a face! What a body! -- and said in her cheeriest manner, "Good morning, Sunshine!" And she took a couple of steps my way and drawing close, surprised me by giving me a pleasant buss right on the cheek. It was somewhat sisterly, but it pleased the shit right out of me! And being -- if just for a moment -- that close, her scent drove me wild. It was fresh, and subtle rather than blatant, but for me it was a very powerful stimulant, and it caused my dick to chub up, uselessly of course, and potentially embarrassingly.
They were ready for a quick morning run, while it was still cool and refreshing. I pulled on my shoes and in just a few minutes we were out the door. There was an agreeable path running through the valley meadow that Alice's patio overlooked, down by a hillside spotted with California oaks, and back up to the crest of the hill above Allie's place. At a mild pace it was a 40-minute jog. I think by design Mike lagged just a little behind, giving Alice and me an opportunity to talk. She asked me about my college plans, and I said that I had my eye on Stanford, "just like Mike," and that in fact during the state baseball championship a couple of months ago I was scouted by Stanford's eastern recruiting team. It was a possibility. Alice went, "But what do you want out of college, Mikey?" and I didn't hesitate. I pretty much gave her chapter and verse from a book I'd just finished, The Aims of Education, though I didn't expressly cite it. With a smile, she abashed me inadvertently when she went, "So I see you've been reading Alfred North Whitehead." She knew his work well, including The Aims. She said that indeed Stanford was exactly the sort of place where I could have an experience that Whitehead would have endorsed. She introduced some of the main notions in process philosophy, but it was clear I didn't know anything about it.
But we did move on to Necessity, Utility, Honor, and Fidelity. I knew nothing of the world; I had had almost no experience of it. You couldn't have found a more innocent character within a country mile. But that didn't stop me from dilating upon these large notions with the callow and idealistic enthusiasm of the high school senior. Fortunately we talked on a Wednesday, because Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays I was a Utilitarian; the other days a firm Positivist. Alice was (I now realize) very indulgent of me, but also she seemed to listen to what I had to say.
Back at Alice's Mike and I jumped in the truck, and Alice followed in her Jeep as we headed to the new house that they would be moving into, just a little closer to Stanford's campus. Mike's company arranged the financing for its key employees; otherwise it would have been impossible for even well-paid staffers like Mike to buy homes in that absurdly fevered market.
Mike and I made fairly quick work of unloading the truck, Alice directing us where to take things. The last thing to come out was a large, beautiful antique Tabriz carpet that my granddad had bought in Iran a half century ago while he was there on business. Mike was carrying the front end of the roll, and I was carrying the back. Alice said, "Wow, from the rear, if it weren't for your yellow floppy hair, Mikey, I wouldn't be able to tell you from your uncle." There's almost nothing in the world that she could have said that would have pleased me more. I knew I had the same general athletic frame as Mike, the same broad shoulders, and I knew could imitate Mike's deliberate masculine swagger if I wanted (and I often did while on stage playing with my band, and sauntering around the ballfield). But I had no idea that I might also have something of the feline grace that was so natural to him, and that I always associated with him. I fairly swelled with pride.
After we had set the carpet down and unrolled it where Allie specified - it was fucking gorgeous! - she said, "C'mere Mike, stand right here. And Mikey, you stand right behind him, back to back. And so we did, heel to heel, calf to calf, butt to butt, and shoulder to shoulder, while Alice looked on judgmentally. "Okay," she said, "it's clear that Mikey has you by an inch in height. And standing in front of me and holding out her arms as if to guide her vision, "and it looks as if maybe his shoulders are just a little bit broader, too. Now put your hands together." I turned toward Mike and held up my right hand, palm outward, and he turned around and lined up his palm to palm with mine. They were identical. Alice goes "Okay, pull off your shirts."
I looked at Mike and said softly, "Uh, I don't think..."
He just looked at me and said quietly, "Just do it."
Now all the advantage lay to Mike. I knew I was a well-built big kid, possessed of the same genes that Mike had. But Mike's arms and forearms made mine look kind of, well, undeveloped, in comparison, and his chest was really big compared to mine, and his big thighs and highly developed calves were far more impressive than mine. With my schoolwork, three sports, my music and my band, dating and everything else, I didn't really have time to be a serious gym rat. I worked out regularly as part of my sports training, but it wasn't a six-day-a-week thing. I did start every day with a couple of hundred crunches, though, and my abs were just as defined as Mike's. (Actually, I was still growing and developing and putting on muscle mass, and eventually I too would have the development that Mike did. But not now, not at barely 18).
