Three Days in May
by Toby Johnston
Chapter 1
First Boy Kiss
The hiss of escaping air was loud in the heavy coastal heat, sounding sharp and aggressive. I knelt in the loose gravel just off the main asphalt, my eyes tracking the line of vehicles to the left and right before I quickly pressed against the valve stem of the rear driver's-side tire. My heart did a quick, familiar kick of adrenaline. If I messed this up, or if I didn't move fast enough, we were going to get completely bogged down and high-centered the second our rubber hit the ramp. We'd be trapped with no way of escaping.
Moving quickly and efficiently, I dropped to my hands and knees in the grit, shifting to the next wheel. I could feel the sweat already starting to track down my collarbone as I worked the valve, keeping my head low and my focus locked on the dropping numbers.
"Come on, hurry up," Ben urged, "can't you go any faster? The FBI's gonna catch us!"
I reached up, patting him on the head as he leaned out the open rear window of the idling SUV. "Relax my man, keep your panties on. I have to measure the pressure with the gauge on each tire. Gotta do it right or we'll get stuck in the soft sand—then you'd really be unhappy."
Ben just stuck his tongue out at me, "I don't wear panties. I'm a boy. I have a weenie!"
"That you do," I laughed, "just like me."
"Oh no. You and daddy have big weenies," he said with all the seriousness a five-year-old could muster, "I hope my weenie grows as big as yours. It's huge !"
If only I thought. I'd finally hit six-foot this year, and my cock had grown with me. I was still measuring on a regular basis—well north of six at last count, with a good, heavy thickness to it. It wasn't huge enough to scare anyone off, but it was definitely enough to make me swagger, walking out of the gym showers with no towel on.
"And you have big balls," he exclaimed, "my balls are sweaty, It's hot. Hurry up Gray!"
I twisted on the last valve cap and slapped the quarter panel of the SUV. "Good to go, Dad!"
I hopped into my middle-row captain's chair, and slammed the door shut against the heat. Amanda was next to me, already tuned out with her headphones on, while Jason and Ben held down the third-row bench behind us. It was a massive vehicle, but we needed every inch of it. We were quite the spread in ages; from me at seventeen, Amanda eleven, Jason at eight, and finally Ben. Mom—actually my stepmom—was up front with dad.
I have friends who have little brothers and sisters who are the mistake or the surprise , depending on your view. In this case, I was the surprise . Dad had gotten his girlfriend preggers right out of high school—enter Grayson. Never knew my mom; don't think she even ever held me. My grands pretty much raised me at first, while dad was off in the Army. It's not like I never saw him; but I didn't get to be with him as much as I wanted, or needed.
Life got way better when he went FBI; I got my dad with me full-time. It's you and me, he'd always say, we're a team . Pretty soon, he'd met Alison. I got to bring up the rings at their wedding—tuxedo and all. The team was now three. It was really nice to actually have a mom; especially one as nice and snuggly as Alison. Then Amanda appeared—little, pink, wrinkled, and loud —followed by Jason and Ben. Let's just say I've changed more than my fair share of diapers.
Dad had given me the whole birds and bees thing when I hit puberty. I already knew a lot by the time he got up the nerve to have the discussion, but he did fill in a lot of missing—or just plain got it wrong —pieces. It got really interesting, though, when he tried to broach the don't get a girl pregnant part.
We were standing at the tailgate of his truck, cleaning fish, when he suddenly cleared his throat in that way he only does when he's about to deliver a lecture.
"Look, Gray," he started, his eyes locked firmly on the flounder he was scaling. "You're growing up fast. And when it comes to girls...well, things can happen before you're ready. I just...I don't want you making the same choices I did. Having a kid out of high school." He paused, his hands freezing on the fish, his chest heaving a nervous sigh. "Not that you were a mistake. Never think that. You're the best thing that ever happened to me, buddy. But it changed the trajectory of everything. It was hard. I just want your life to be easier."
He was totally tongue-tied, sweating through his shirt, trying to walk a razor-thin line of giving a warning without making his own son feel like an accident.
I took pity on him. I rinsed my hands in the bait bucket and wiped them on a rag, letting out a laugh. "Dad. Relax."
He looked up. I could already tell he was thinking I wasn't getting it; dumb teenager who thought he knew everything. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. The whole surprise kid thing? It's literally impossible for me; never going to happen."
Dad blinked, confused. "What do you mean? You think you're safe just because you're careful ?"
"No, Dad," I said, looking him straight in the eye with a grin. "I mean I can't get another boy preggers. And boys are the only thing I'm interested in."
The silence lasted for about three beats, save for the crying of the gulls overhead. Then, the tension broke right out of his shoulders. He let out a loud, booming laugh that echoed across the marina, shaking his head.
"Well," Dad chuckled, wiping a stray tear from his eye. "Duly noted. Glad we had this chat. Team meeting adjourned."
Meeting adjourned; but discussions continued after that. He still wanted to make sure I was careful. I was; you don't grow up with a dad who's a badass, FBI Hostage Rescue Team guy without understanding you have to be careful.
The heavy engine rumbled as dad shifted into four-wheel drive and eased onto the gas. The tires caught the soft, deep sand of the ramp with a low, churning groan, but with the pressure dropped to fifteen PSI, the wide rubber floated perfectly over the terrain instead of digging in. We rolled out onto the wide expanse of the Outer Banks beach, the Atlantic stretching out endlessly to our right.
We were pretty much in a convoy for the first two miles; then people started peeling off and parking. We always went a lot further, towards the northern end—fewer people, no one on top of you. That's what dad and I had always done with I was little; and we trained Alison and the new littles the same way.
About two-hundred yards past an old guy with six fishing poles deployed, dad swung the car around and parked. Time to go to work—first the Dad tasks —tent to be put up; chairs distributed; table set up for all the food; grill swung out for cooking lunch.
Then the littles' tasks —Ben needed his pit dug, complete with steps and a seat down inside; Jason needed his raft blown up, thank God for the step-pump; and Amanda needed her low lounge chair set up, and the special sun umbrella angled just right over it so she could read her book and work on her tan without getting a single ray of direct glare on her phone screen.
Now…it's Grayson time. I gave dad the high-sign and headed for a good spot back in the dunes, towards the dense, tangled network of maritime forest, wild oat grasses, and thick scrub brush that lined the beach. From there, I could still see the family—close enough to be hailed or to run down to help if chaos broke loose, which it often does; but far enough away to kind of be alone.
I spread out my beach towel and lay down, hauling out my lotion to grease up. As much as I liked getting a protective layer of sunscreen over my arms and shoulders, I definitely missed having my buddy-with-benefits, Cameron, around to do it for me.
We'd been on the swim team together forever, and we had eagerly shared every single thing we discovered about our changing bodies when we first hit puberty. What started as showing had quickly led to touching, which led to playing, which led to jerking, and eventually, to sucking.
I wouldn't say we took each other's virginity—it was just freely and happily given away. We both wanted to see what it was all like, and we experimented with both topping and bottoming. Honestly, I liked both. A lot. We'd pretty much tried every position imaginable over the years, perfecting the ones we liked best. Since Cameron, I've hooked up with a few other guys, but it was never anything I would call serious. It was always a blast physically, but there was nothing there emotionally.
That was the missing piece. I wanted a real connection. I wanted love.
I sighed, laying back with my hands tucked behind my head. I breathed in deep, enjoying the warmth of the sun on my chest; the light breeze tickling the little hairs in my armpits; the sweat already trickling down the side of my stomach. My balls were sweating a little too, just like Ben's. The heat of the sand radiated through the towel. I closed my eyes, enjoying the rhythmic sound of the distant rumble of the surf—this was my happy place.
I'd dozed off, not sure how long, when a spray of sand across my legs and a noise woke me up. I was immediately on alert— Confidence High, little brother incoming .
Only it wasn't. It was a dog. A super cute Goldendoodle with eyes that would just melt your heart. He'd plopped down a couple of feet away from me, his head resting on front paws that were tucked in close. It screamed I am a good boy; be my friend. His nose was twitching like mad; his eyes kept flicking between me and my backpack—the one with two tuna fish sandwiches and Gatorade… just in case I got hungry before dad fired up the grill.
I stood up and looked around; no sign of his human. The only person in sight was the fisherman, and he didn't have a dog when we'd passed by him earlier. I knelt down, holding my hand out, keeping my voice low. "I sure hope you're friendly..."
He was. Didn't bite my hand off; instead, he gave me lots of lick-kisses.
"Are you hungry?" I asked. "You seem to be keeping an eye on my backpack."
He whimpered as if he understood, so I pulled a sandwich out. His eyes fixed on the foil, and he licked his lips as I unwrapped it.
He was obviously well-trained. My brother Ben would have leapt already and sunk his teeth into the food, but this guy sat so patiently. I tore off a corner and held it out. He commando-crawled forward, stretched out his head, and gently took it from my hand. Two bites, swallowed, and he looked right back at me for more.
I chuckled, tearing off another piece. "You've got manners, buddy. I'll give you that."
That's when I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye. Standing just at the edge of the thick wild oats was a guy, deeply tanned. He looked about my age, wearing faded, salt-stained cargo shorts that hung a little loose on his hips, and no shoes. He was obviously trying to stay out of sight.
I didn't want to spook him, so I kept my eye on the dog, slowly feeding him pieces of my sandwich.
Then I heard him. "Willie! Come here. Now." The voice was low, sharp. The dog froze instantly, his ears pinning back as his tail went completely still.
I lifted my head, putting on my best smile—and I have been told I have an awesomely cute smile. Now I could see him clearly. He was gorgeous—sharp cheekbones, a hard, lean jawline, and dark, messy hair whipped by the wind. He was totally cut; tanned, lean muscles everywhere. And scratches, nasty briar scratches along his shins.
"Willie's okay," I grinned. "Looks like he's just hungry. I have extra; unless he shouldn't be eating tuna fish…"
The guy hesitated. He seemed hesitant to leave the sanctuary of the wild oats and scrub brush. Like Willie, though, he kept flicking his eyes between me and my sandwich. I fed Willie another piece, bringing me down to about half of the sandwich.
He seemed to make a decision and ventured out from the brush. He kept kind of low, though—like in the movies when soldiers are worried about snipers. He came in close and squatted on the reverse side of the dune. It wasn't lost on me that his positioning kept him completely out of sight of my family down the beach and the guy fishing.
"Grayson," I smiled, holding out a hand. "Friends call me Gray."
He looked at my hand, then up at my face. He hesitated for a long second. "Caleb..."
I ignored the delay, keeping my smile steady. "I have another sandwich—tuna fish. Would you like it?"
"I don't want to take your food," he answered, but his stomach let out a low rumble that completely gave him away. He was just as hungry as Willie.
I pulled the second foil package out of my backpack and handed it over. "If you don't eat it, it'll go in the trash. Dad's down there already setting up the grill for lunch. I just grabbed this in case I got hungry before then, which I'm not."
Caleb looked at the sandwich for a split second, then slowly reached out. "Thanks. I guess I'm pretty hungry."
He wolfed it down fast, but even starving, he still showed how much he cared for his dog by tearing off a few pieces to share with Willie.
I leaned back on my elbows, stretching my legs out in front of me as he ate. I pretended to look at Willie, but I was really watching Caleb out of the corner of my eye. I've figured out a few things about being gay through middle and high school. Gaydar may or may not be a real thing, but watching where a guy looks— especially when he thinks you're not watching—is most definitely a thing.
I absently rubbed my chest—his eyes went straight there. I swiped a bead of sweat off my abs—his eyes tracked the motion.
I gave a subtle, deliberate flex of my hips, tenting my cock upward so it shifted heavy against the thin, white fabric. The midday heat had made the thin material cling to me, showing the thick, dark outline that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.
You guessed it. Locked on target.
That's exactly when I snapped my head over, catching him dead-on, staring right at my crotch.
A sudden, dark flush crept up his neck, coloring his sharp cheekbones as his eyes went wide. His mouth froze mid-chew, his gaze darting helplessly back down to the heavy ridge tenting my trunks before he forced himself to look away. For a second, I thought I'd fucked up, and he was going to bolt for the brush.
Then his shoulders slumped, like he was suddenly defeated, tired of running. "Sorry," he almost whispered, looking away. "I shouldn't have been looking at you…"
"Don't be sorry," I said softly, letting out a little chuckle. "I wanted you to. If you hadn't, then I would have been sorry—not to mention pissed for wasting the money I spent on these ultra-thin, white trunks."
Damn, he's cute when he blushes. I could see him trying to process what he'd just heard me say—like he'd heard it, but couldn't believe it. He brought his eyes back to mine; his voice so faint I almost couldn't hear it. "You...you mean...you're gay?"
"Very, very gay," I grinned. "I like boys. Especially super cute guys—with cheekbones so sharp they could cut glass, dark, messy hair; especially if they're so cut and lean, his shorts are practically falling off, showing off his very sexy tan line…"
My turn to look. I was blatant, sending a very clear message as I trailed my eyes down that lean torso to the bulge in his cargo shorts that was definitely swelling up now. I slowly licked my lips.
Message received.
"I'm gay too..." Caleb said haltingly, like it was the first time he'd ever said the words aloud. But then he smiled back, looking like he'd found a sudden burst of confidence from somewhere. "I like super cute guys too. Especially if he's wearing see-through white surfer trunks and has a totally lean bod…"
He was seriously cute, but more than that, he was different. Something about the way he carried himself was…intriguing. It wasn't just the usual spark; it was a pull I couldn't quite define yet. I racked my horny brain trying to figure out how to move this along, but he wasn't playing by the usual rules. Cameron, for instance, had taken one look and a simple flick of my head to get the message and start moving. But Caleb was already proving to be a much bigger, much more fascinating challenge.
"Let's go swimming," I grinned, knowing damn well my sweaty trunks would go full see-through the second they got wet.
He tensed up, looking left and right like he was worried. "I shouldn't..."
I took a guess at what was bothering him. "The fisherman is gone. So, it's just me and my family way down the line."
He licked his lips, clearly waging a massive internal debate. He stretched his body up, staying glued low to the sand but getting a clear view over the crest of the dune to inspect the beach below. My eyes were still distracted by his taut, stretched abs and that V-line that disappeared into his shorts, when he suddenly blurted out, "Okay, let's go!" and took off like a rocket.
I had to sprint hard to catch up to him before he hit the surf. We splashed in together, laughing and hopping over the breaking waves to get into deeper water. Just like I planned, my trunks went totally see-through after the first wave hit them, plastering the thin fabric right against my skin.
Caleb's cargo shorts hung heavy from the water, and when a solid, cresting wave slammed right into his midsection, the undertow tugged his waistband down a critical inch or two. As he stood up, wiping the saltwater out of his eyes, I caught a killer glimpse of where his treasure trail began to flare out into dark hair below his hip bones.
You're not supposed to kick a man when he's down, but tackling a hot boy when his shorts are slipping is totally acceptable—even mandatory.
I wrapped my arms around his waist and used my momentum to drive us both down into the water. We came up laughing, the saltwater splashing around us. I kept my arms locked around him, anchoring him to me as the surf swirled around our ribs. Our wet, bare chests were molded together, every muscle definition telegraphing right into my skin. Below the waterline, I slid my thigh between his, tilting my hips just enough to press my fully engorged shaft flat against his equally hard steel, letting the rhythm of the waves rock us into a slow, bruising grind.
We both grinned and locked eyes, our noses almost touching. I gave a quick look back toward the family—the curve of the beach and the rolling swells kept us completely out of sight.
I kissed him.
Just a quick kiss. An I-like-you kiss. An exploratory, I-want-to-kiss-you-more kiss.
He looked completely stunned at first, his lips parting slightly as we broke away. Then a slow smile spread across his face, looking like something straight out of a movie with the afternoon sun catching the water droplets in his wet hair.
"That's my first boy kiss..." he murmured softly.
His first? Ever?
Well, that completely explained the hesitancy I'd caught back on the dunes when we were talking. A sudden wave of protective warmth hit me, overriding my usual impulses. Need to be careful here, Gray, I told myself. He's my age, but he's totally new to this. I didn't want to rush him, and I definitely didn't want to scare him off. This mattered too much.
"Would you like a second boy kiss?" I grinned, keeping my voice low and giving him all the room in the world to say no.
He didn't answer with words. He just darted his head forward and planted his lips firmly back on mine. His hands flew up to the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my wet hair, holding me to him.
Okay, first time, but clearly enthusiastic. This boy was definitely not reluctant.
Time to start teaching , I figured. I softened my lips, deliberately slowing the frantic pace down, and began to move them gently, rhythmically against his. He caught on incredibly fast, his tension melting away as he began mirroring my actions. The ocean swelled around our waists, lifting us slightly with the tide, but neither of us broke contact. It was like the rest of the world just washed away.
We floated in the gentle swells as we kissed, our bodies rising and falling together. I tapped my tongue playfully against his lips. He opened right up for me, and I slid inside, shuddering as I felt the smooth, wet warmth of his tongue slide along mine. He let out a low whimper in his throat. He seemed perfectly happy to let me take the lead, but he was definitely an eager follower—showing zero hesitation to try each new experience I threw at him.
He gave another little whimper and a soft moan against my mouth, and the sound pulled a matching one right out of me. I shuddered against him. I was supposed to be the experienced one here, the guy completely in control, but Caleb was making me feel all fluttery inside.
A larger, cresting wave caught us from behind and carried us further in toward the shore. We stumbled a bit as our feet got tangled in the surf, forcing us to break apart to find our footing.
As we stood back up, his eyes went straight to my trunks. The white fabric was now completely translucent, plastered tight against my skin like a second layer of plastic wrap. No question I was a boy. No question I was hard. No question I was circumcised.
Caleb's eyes locked on target. A sharp, hitched breath escaped his throat, his chest heaving as he stood panting in the surf. He looked starved, his tongue darting out to lick his lips as he swallowed hard.
He'd been all-in on the kissing, and honestly, he'd kissed me like no one ever had before. I hoped I wasn't being too forward—plus, he just seemed so beautifully eager.
"Want to see it?" I whispered, stepping just a fraction closer.
"I think I pretty much can," he managed to get out, a breathless little giggle catching in his throat, though his eyes refused to budge even an inch.
Have you ever noticed how loud Velcro is when you pull it apart? Especially when your cock is throbbing right on the other side of it, and there's a gorgeous boy practically drooling over the front of your trunks.
My hard-on had a solid outward arch, springing free out and over my trunks, angled toward the sky with the midday sun glistening off my wet, dark crown. I pushed the fabric down below my balls—if you're going to show off, you might as well show it all. We were at just the right depth in the surf; the water gently rose, making my balls float, then ebbed, letting them hang heavy in the cool air.
I reached out for Caleb's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze before pulling his palm directly toward my cock. I kept the movement slow and gentle, giving him every chance to pull back if he panicked. He didn't; halfway there, he shook my hand free. His fingers grazed my shaft, the friction making me lurch instantly.
He ran his fingers up and down the length, sending intense tremors straight through my body—my turn to let out a low whimper.
"It's so hard," he murmured, his breath hitching. "But so smooth."
"First boy cock?" I whispered.
He nodded, "First boy cock I've touched; not the first boy cock I've thought of touching."
His eyes completely entranced by what he was holding, his entire body consumed by the heavy, throbbing heat of my shaft. He wrapped his hand fully around me, squeezing tight, and I couldn't help but thrust forward just a little into his palm.
I reached out again, my fingers slipping beneath the waterline to touch the heavy metal button on his wet cargo shorts. "Can I see yours?" I asked, my voice thick, heavy, and full of lust.
He let out a low, shaky breath, his eyes flicking up to meet mine for a split second before dropping right back down. He didn't say a word, just gave a single, definitive nod as he parted his thighs slightly in the shifting current, completely giving in.
His heavy cargo shorts dropped down toward his knees the second I popped his button and slid the zipper down. His cock got caught briefly against the wet shorts before snapping completely free; slapping up against his flat abs with a sharp, wet smack. His skin was more olive than mine, his cock definitely darker—especially his head, which was an almost plum-colored purple, swollen, hard, and proud.
It was my turn to gulp, to feel a sharp hitch in my breath, and to tremble as I reached out through the water and wrapped my hand fully around him. I could literally feel the rapid pulse of his heartbeat throbbing right inside his shaft. I gave him a firm, reassuring squeeze and stroked him once, twice—rewarded almost instantly by a thick bead of pre-cum oozing from his slit. I ran my thumb right across the opening, spreading the slick liquid smoothly around his crown.
There was no way he was going to last long. First boy kiss, first boy cock he'd ever touched, and obviously, the first boy who'd ever touched his cock. I didn't want his cum spewing out into the ocean waves where it would get washed away.
I had a completely different first in mind for him.
"Let's go back up in the dunes," I whispered, my voice somehow managing to push past my ragged breaths. "More privacy. For your next first."
It was so cute—he looked completely torn, like the last thing in the world he wanted to do was let go of my cock. He nodded, but he still held firm for a beat, giving me one last gentle squeeze. Then, with a soft sigh, he finally let go, his fingers slowly trailing up my shaft and grazing right across my tip until the last fingertip parted.
We both just stood there, staring at each other for a few seconds with our chests heaving. I broke the spell with a grin. "Race you to the dunes!"
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