The Peter & Charlie Trilogy

by Gordon Merrick

  “That’s marvelous,” Charlie said wonderingly. “It’s really sweet. I hardly even touched you.”

  “I couldn’t help it,” Peter murmured in a stricken voice. His eyes were closed, he lay inert and spent. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me.”

  “I can’t see anything the matter with you,” Charlie said with happy laughter. “I almost came myself.” Peter’s legs were trembling. Charlie briefly hugged the feet against his chest before he lifted them and swung them onto the bed. The small act of possession brought him close to orgasm once more. He picked up the towel from the floor and stretched out beside Peter. He wiped Peter’s cheeks where he had splashed himself, his neck, his shoulders, his chest. The head of his sex was lying in a little pool formed by his navel. It had shrunk slightly, but as he wiped it, it sprang up again into full erection. Charlie chuckled at the lively response. All that trouble and the crazy kid had been dying for it the whole time. Shy. Probably not much experience. He wondered if his tastes were fixed. He let his eyes roam appreciatively over his conquest. He looked rather slight in his clothes, but there was so much of him, all of it beautiful. Charlie had known him less than three hours, and he already felt a potential intimacy between them that seemed to fill all the corners of his life. He glanced at the closed eyes and then ran his hand down over his chest and made a ring of thumb and two fingers and encircled the rigid sex. He ran his hand down to its base and encountered the crisp curls that had been his introduction to the secret area. He gathered the balls into the palm of his hand and watched the skin pucker and tighten. Peter’s whole body was alive to his touch. His own sex was aching with the prolonged tease he had subjected it to. He hoped Peter wasn’t the sort that just wanted his own off and was indifferent to his partner.

  He tossed the towel away and slipped his hands under Peter’s shoulders and helped him pull himself up completely onto the bed. As he did so, he put his mouth on a nipple and nuzzled it with his lips and tongue. Peter cried out ecstatically and his body jerked in his arms. Charlie lifted his head and looked at him with a flash of comprehension.

  “Haven’t you ever done anything like this before?” he asked. Peter rolled his head on the pillow in negation, his eyes still closed. “My God, I can’t believe it. With your looks, I should’ve thought everybody would be falling all over themselves after you.”

  “I was afraid to. I don’t know. I wouldn’t. I thought it was wrong.”

  “There’s nothing wrong. It’s great.”

  Peter opened his eyes. Tears were in them, and a reluctant, ambiguous plea. “Have you done it before?” he asked.

  “Well, sure. Hundreds of times.”

  “How did you know I was—Did you know it was going to happen with us?”

  “I didn’t know. I thought it might. I hoped it would.”

  “I guess I did too, from the minute I saw you, but I tried not to think about it. You’re going to have to show me. I don’t know how to act. You’re going to have to teach me everything.”

  “That won’t be any great hardship,” Charlie said with a chuckle. “Just do anything you feel like.” He lowered his head and put his mouth on Peter’s. He met with closed lips, but he ran his tongue along them, inviting entrance. Peter’s mouth opened slightly, their tongues met, and then their mouths were devouring each other and they were seized by a storm of lust—legs thrashing, arms gripping, their bellies and chests writhing against each other, their sexes, hard columns of flesh, lifted in an insurmountable barrier between them. Charlie ran his hand down Peter’s back encompassing the full smooth curve of buttocks. He slipped his hand between them. Peter’s hips were agitated by brief thrusting spasms, and the muscles of his buttocks quivered in welcome of the invasion. He wrenched his mouth from Charlie’s and threw his head back, his chest heaving, his breath coming in gasps, his mouth open, uttering moans of ecstasy.

  “That feels good?” Charlie asked against his ear.

  “Oh, yes,” he gasped. “Everything you do feels wonderful. I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

  “Just a minute.” Charlie gave his nose a little kiss and sprang up and went to the door and locked it and turned back to the bathroom. He emerged with a tube of lubricating jelly. Peter watched his approach, his eyes wide and transfixed on his swaying sex. Charlie dropped onto the bed and squeezed jelly onto his hand and applied it between Peter’s buttocks, a finger exploring tentatively. Peter’s hips lurched forward and his muscles danced as Charlie urged his finger deeper.

  “What are you doing?” Peter asked, his eyes staring with blind acceptance.

  “I’m going to do it with you like this. You told me to teach you everything.”

  “Can you? I mean, it doesn’t look possible. You’re so big. Will I be able to?”

  “Of course,” Charlie assured him with a smile. “It’s supposed to be better, the bigger it is. It might hurt a bit at first. I’ll stop if you don’t like it.”

  “No. I want everything. I don’t care if it hurts.”

  “OK.” He urged him over onto his stomach with a loving pat and lifted himself and straddled Peter’s thighs. The golden head, the delicate profile partially crushed against the pillow, the wide slightly bony shoulders, unmistakably male yet touchingly vulnerable, the smooth, slim flanks, the buttocks yielding richly before him stirred him so intensely that he felt close to tears. He had never had such beauty given so totally into his possession. He annointed his sex liberally, as always slightly in awe of it and anxious.

  “Now just relax,” he warned gently. “It shouldn’t hurt if you relax.” His own breath began to labor as, guiding it with one hand, he slid his sex between the buttocks, and his body was in turn wracked with a great shudder as he felt the head make its first penetration. He paused to recover himself and then began to force a long, slow entrance. Peter’s hips lifted to him, trembling, his muscles working hungrily to hasten the union. He uttered a groan of pain and pleasure as he pressed backward and lifted himself on his hands. Charlie’s hands were on Peter’s buttocks trying to control his straining efforts. “Take it easy, baby,” he soothed him. “It’ll hurt if you go too fast.”

  “It hurts,” Peter cried. “It feels as if you’re tearing me apart. I don’t care. Go on. Do it.” Peter lifted himself upright on his knees, and Charlie dropped back on his heels. Peter was whimpering and uttering brief, strangled sobs, but he bore down hard, his hips rotating as he sought to impale himself completely. Charlie withdrew slightly and then bore implacably into him. The sobs became uncontrolled, but something seemed to give way and they both cried out as Charlie felt his full length plunge into him, bringing Peter down onto his lap. The sobs were transformed into choking laughter, and Peter uttered another cry as his head fell back onto Charlie’s shoulder and he abandoned himself to the leaping flood of another orgasm. Charlie’s sex was gripped by the spasm, and he felt a thrill of astonished pride that he could provoke such an instant and conclusive response. He saw Peter reach for the towel and then saw little more as he felt his whole being flow into his sex. He raised Peter so that only the head remained at the lip of the entrance, and then pulled him close so that his sex surged through Peter in one huge thrust.

  “Oh yes,” Peter moaned. “It’s unbelievable, I can. I can do it.” He took the initiative, repeating the movement, his hips working with abandon as he explored the pleasures of this unknown exercise.

  When Charlie felt himself being brought to the limits of his control, he lunged forward and flung Peter down so that his head was resting on his folded arms and then took final, overwhelming possession of him. He adopted his own rhythm, submerging Peter in his will and desire, driving always deeper into him. The force of the onslaught met with no resistance, and Peter’s cries came in unison with his own as frenzy seized them and they rushed headlong together toward an unimaginable climax. At last, Charlie uttered a great shout, Peter echoed him, there was a split second of unbearably exquisite promise, and then all of him dissolved in burs
ting release as he toppled over and lay heaving on the boy in a tangle of arms and legs. They remained still, in a mindless stupor of fulfillment, as they slowly recovered their breath.

  “Did you come again?” Charlie asked finally, his lips moving against Peter’s cheek. After his triumphant possession of the boy, speech felt flat and inappropriate.

  “Yes, with you. The other times were nothing.”

  “Good, I wanted you to. I thought you had.”

  “God, yes. Are we—I mean, is this something we’re supposed to just forget about?”

  Charlie’s mouth shaped a kiss against Peter’s cheek. “Forget about? We’re going to spend practically the whole summer together, remember?”

  “Are there lots of other people around you do it with?”

  Charlie laughed briefly. “You’ve got the damnedest ideas. Of course not.”

  “Have you done it with lots of other guys?”

  “Oh, well, it depends on what you mean by lots. It was never like this.”

  “And girls?”

  “A couple. Forget it. I tell you, it’s never been anything like this.”

  “You mean you’ll only do it with me now?”

  “Nobody else. Promise.” Charlie laughed once more, this time softly, with unfamiliar tenderness. It was an easy promise to make since there was nobody else around who tempted him.

  “That’s wonderful. Is it true what you said, that you’ve never met anybody bigger than you?”

  “Yes, but that’s just the way it’s happened. I’m sure there’re plenty of guys who are bigger.”

  “I bet not. I got the champion right at the start.” He laughed with a sunny gaiety that delighted Charlie. His heart lifted with happiness. The initiation had been inevitable and carried no guilt with it; Peter had obviously just been waiting for the right person to come along. He had never encountered a less inhibited partner, and this was just a debut. He felt at peace with himself. He gave Peter’s cheek another kiss. “Come on. We better get cleaned up.” He made a move to withdraw, but Peter gripped him.

  “No. Don’t go. I want you there always. I can’t believe it. Charlie Mills, the guy I’ve been thinking about for months, here, like this. I’ll never let you leave.”

  “That’ll present certain problems.”

  “Will we be able to sleep together at night?” Peter asked, with a return of the shy anxiety that had edged his voice before.

  Charlie’s voice caught as tenderness swelled up in him. “Of course. Do you think I’d let you sleep in there alone? We’re going to be together now, baby.”

  “I think I’m losing my mind, I’m so happy.” Peter relaxed his grip with a deep sigh. Charlie withdrew slowly and then pushed himself up and sprang away from the bed. He caught a glimpse of blood and other matter on himself. This was always a moment he had never reconciled himself to, but he had trained himself to limit his revulsion by moving quickly, by washing blindly until most of the traces were gone and he could give himself his full attention.

  He went through his routine and returned to find Peter seated on the edge of the bed with the towel across his lap. His eyes widened at Charlie’s nakedness, and he clutched at the towel.

  “I’ve made an awful mess of the bed,” he said.

  “I’ll take care of it. You go take a shower.”

  Peter went, holding the towel close around him. Charlie pulled off the bedspread and rolled it up and threw it into a corner. He went out to a hall closet where towels were stored and brought back a fresh supply. He was dressed when Peter reappeared, still draped in a towel.

  “Where are we going?” he asked with averted eyes.

  “I thought we’d go for a drive.”

  He went to the end of the bed where Charlie had laid his clothes and put them on with awkward modesty. He communicated a sudden shyness that was an almost palpable barrier between them. In a moment, he was ready and Charlie went to him and put a reassuring hand on his arm. Some guys turned all moony and romantic; others became speechless with shame. He hoped Peter wouldn’t do either.

  “Come on,” he said.

  Peter turned to him, his head back, his eyes full of anguish. The hair was damp on his brow, he smelled of soap again, his lips worked in an effort to speak.

  “It’s all right, isn’t it? I mean, you’re not sorry?” he said.

  Charlie’s heart dissolved. “Sorry! Good lord. It’s wonderful, baby.”

  “Yes, call me that. That makes everything right.”

  Their mouths met and opened to each other, their bodies locked, Peter uttered a whimper of longing assuaged. Charlie pulled himself back with an effort and gave Peter’s cheek a little slap.

  “Come on. I’m supposed to be showing you the town.” He was deeply stirred by the boy in a way he instinctively resisted. He felt threatened by unknown depths. Of course, he reasoned with himself, Peter was probably just carried away because of its being the first time. He had doubtless been the same once himself. He couldn’t remember. He would set an example, calm him down. It was, after all, just harmless fun.

  As they left the room, Peter took his arm. At the head of the stairs, he dropped behind and put his hands on Charlie’s shoulders as they started down.

  Charlie shrugged them off. “Cut it out,” he said. “Somebody might see us.”

  “Oh, yes. I forgot. I feel as if we’re the only people in the world.”

  They went down through the silent house and out onto the shaded drive where Charlie’s little convertible was parked.

  “Hey, is this yours?” Peter asked as they got in.

  “Yes. Well, actually it’s C. B.’s. She keeps it here for me.” Charlie started the car and set it in motion. Being out of doors, going through the familiar maneuvers of driving, Charlie was restored to his accustomed sense of normalcy. The fact that they had held each other in their arms, kissed, known passionately each other’s bodies gave them as a pair a special mysterious awareness of each other, but it had no extension into everyday life. They were just good friends, going for a drive on a hot summer afternoon.

  “Do you think C. B. will know what’s happened?” Peter asked.

  “With us? Heavens no. She could never even dream of it.”

  “I’m not so sure. She’s said a lot of things that didn’t mean anything to me at the time. Almost as if she’d been planning it.”

  “I know what you mean, but you don’t understand. It’s hard to explain. She has a sort of romantic—well, ideal. It’s all involved with young men, watching them develop and all that. She has no use for females. I don’t think she ever thinks about sex.”

  “That may be. But there’s something else. I felt all along as if she was preparing me for something. She has a way of putting ideas in your head and then watching to see how they work out.”

  “She has that, all right. They usually work out the way she wants them to. She’s fascinated by you. She’s decided to make you one of her projects. I’m supposed to sort of draw you out and broaden your experience.” They glanced at each other and burst into roars of laughter, sharing youth’s joke on its inexplicable elders.

  “You’ve certainly made a good start,” Peter said.

  “I’m not so sure you’re not going to broaden mine.”

  “Oh, you’ve obviously done everything. I might as well tell you—I’ve always longed for something like this to happen, without quite admitting it to myself. Does that mean I’m a fairy or something? Not that I really care so long as it’s with you.”

  “You’re no more a fairy than I am,” Charlie said sharply. “It’s something that happens to everybody.”

  “Well, you know more about it than I do. But I don’t think that’s really the way I feel. Anyway, I don’t care. I feel so damn happy. You have a job waiting in New York, don’t you?”

  “Yes. Publishing. In the fall. I was supposed to be there now, but C. B. arranged everything.” He drove through a tunnel of trees past big, old-fashioned properties like C. B.’s. He
turned into a street with shops. “This is the town, what there is of it. We might as well go look at the ocean. Then I’ll take you to the club and introduce you to the gang.”

  “Are you going to live with C. B.?”

  “No, she’s found me a little apartment. She doesn’t think men should live with their families. It’s one of her ideas.”

  “It sounds great. I wish I knew what I was going to do.”

  “You’re going to West Point, aren’t you?”

  “Oh, that’s the idea. But I’m not. I’d rather shoot myself. C. B. wants me to go to Princeton. Did you like it?”

  “It was all right. But I’ve never much cared for school. I always wanted to get it over with and get out and do things.”

  “Me too. Except I don’t know what I want to do.”

  “I do. I know just what I want to do, but for God’s sake don’t tell C. B.; I’m going to be an actor. The job is just an excuse to go to New York. Broadway people have seen me at Princeton. They think I’m good.”

  “An actor! That’s amazing. I suppose that means you’ll be a big movie star. I wouldn’t like that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Everybody after you. Too much competition.” Peter put his hand in Charlie’s lap and grasped his sex. It responded immediately. Charlie shifted in his seat to ease his trousers.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not interested in movies. That would kill C. B. I want to work in the theater. I don’t think she’ll really mind if I’m a success.”

  “Why should she?”

  “Oh, she has ideas about what’s proper. I once wanted to be a painter, but she talked me out of it. She was probably right.” His sex continued to grow under Peter’s hand.

  “Well, you obviously have talent. I haven’t. It makes a big difference.”

  “You could have. You just might not have discovered it yet.”

  “I doubt it.” He interrupted himself with laughter. “But I guess today proves there’s a lot I haven’t discovered yet.” He unfastened buttons and grasped Charlie’s sex and eased it out. It sprang up, and the head hovered near the wheel. “Golly, it’s even bigger than I remembered. I thought I must’ve imagined it.”