Author name: Jason Crow

Triple Letter Score – Part 1
by
Tommy Linarcos

Story #5 in the Cutting School and Playing Games series

It was a Wednesday, and no one wanted to be in school.  Especially me.  We didn’t even wait to meet up in 1st Hour PE so we didn’t have to get our TA Charlie to mark us absent.  That guy has enough problems with impending fatherhood.  Rory’s sister, Fiona, says her friend Allison is due in February.  That comes with tough decisions I hope I don’t ever have to make.

“Mia, I got Costa and Silke,” my boyfriend Rory reported in.

By snagging everyone out on the “quad,” we were able to get our friend Johnny as soon as he showed up.  “C’mon, we’re cutting school today,” Rory flat-out told him.  “Heading over to Lyla’s.  We’ll play a game, fool around…  You know.”

I could see Johnny turning it over in his head.  And he looked right at me.  Like right into me.  I could hear his thoughts: Will you and me get some alone time?  Or will Lyla come to her senses and I get to be with her?  If not, I want you, Mia.  You.

“Who’s all coming?” Johnny asked me.  You know, I don’t know if he ever cut school before.

“Us, Lyla, Silke, Costa, Conor,” Rory told him.  I noticed he’d purposely separated Conor’s name from Lyla’s, but Johnny caught that.  I could see that in his eyes.  “I was thinking of asking Lucas, too.  Mia might ask a couple more girls.”

“I don’t know,” Johnny grumbled.  “I don’t want to be a 5th or 7th wheel.  Going to the movies or just hanging out is one thing, but…”

I couldn’t lie to him and tell him Lyla was hoping he’d come, though she was.  But I also couldn’t predict if they’d get together, or if he’d get in an argument with Conor.

“Come on,” Rory whined.  I’d hoped he didn’t play the “chicken” line.  “Take a day off with us.  Relax.  We’ll have fun.”

Somehow, Johnny decided to do it.  Again, he looked right into me, then said okay.  I started us moving toward the big tree before he could change his mind.  We met the others there.  I did ask Molly and Ava, but they declined, again.  Rory never did find Lucas.  So, as Johnny predicted, he was the 7th person.

We took off for Lyla’s before anyone really noticed us, though who really cares?  A quick stop at 7-11 for some snacks, and we were good.

We did the usual getting settled stuff: backpacks in the hall, shoes and coats off, who’s sitting where, me and Rory intertwined, what’s on TV?  Orange marmalade sandwiches have kind of become a tradition, now, too.

“Wanna play a game?” Lyla asked the room, hinting at the gameplay of a few weeks ago.

We all kind of looked at each other, knowing why we were here.  Getting privacy for actual clothes-off sex was rare.  I mean, of course we find ways to do a quickie with pants down in Rory’s basement or the garage, a hand job in my bedroom even with the door open because sweats can be pulled up quickly if you hear the floor creaking.  But getting the parents out of the house so you can lie completely naked in your bed and spend a couple hours together?  That was rare.  If a friend has an empty house, it was good manners to share.  But sometimes we had to take drastic action like cutting school.

“Yeah, but I want to actually play a game,” I surprised everyone by saying.  “We’ve got time.  Why not?  I mean, we’ve got six hours or so.”

There seemed to be general agreement.  But what to play?  What game could accommodate seven players?  I hadn’t thought of that.  There was always party games like charades…

“Can it still be sexy?” Costa asked.

“Maybe?” Lyla shrugged.  “Depends.”  Lyla went over in her head what games she had in her closet, and what ones she knew her sister Tori had, and what was in her basement.  “Most are two-to-six players,” she told us.  “There’s always Monopoly…”

“No one likes Monopoly,” was said by three or four of us at the same time.  One voice just said, “Never again.”

“I like Monopoly,” came from Conor somewhere in the kitchen.

“Fuck off,” Rory called back to him.

Johnny looked at me like ‘I knew this would happen. I should’ve stayed at school.’  I had to stop him from actually considering leaving.  Rory leaned into my hair and whispered, “Make Lyla take Johnny upstairs to look at her games.”

“Lyla?  Do you have Life?  That has a bunch of players, right?” I asked her.

“I might…”

“Can you check?” I prompted.

Rory elbowed Johnny in his side.  Pretty hard, too.  I could feel it all the way through the chair we were sitting in.

“I’ll help you look,” Johnny said, standing up.  He’s not dumb.

Now, what happened upstairs I wasn’t there for, obviously, but they both told me and Rory, separately, later.  So, here’s the Mia-dramatized version:

            Lyla: Okay, all my games are here in my closet.  Can you reach them for me? (hair twirl)

            Johnny: Lyla, no more games.  I love you.  Kiss me!

            Lyla: Oh, Johnny! (kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss, make out, tongue, kiss, kiss, boobs, kiss, kiss)

            Johnny: Leave Conor and fly away with me!

            Lyla: Oh, if I only could…

            Johnny: You can. Just do it. (kiss, kiss) What happened to when we played Operation?  You weren’t worried about that Jughead, then?

            Lyla: That was different.

            Johnny: Lyla, you’re tearing me apart!

            Lyla: Johnny… (kiss, kiss) Let’s just go back downstairs.

And they both came back down with Johnny carrying the Harry Potter edition of Scrabble — and sporting a hard-on.

Conor saw them and spouted off, “Of course Johnny’d choose Scrabble.  He’s so smart!  ‘Look, everybody, I spelled butt!  I even used two Ts because I knows how to spell gooder than anybody!’”

Johnny told me later that he almost punched Conor then.  And looking back, I wonder if that would have been better, if that might have led to a discussion about certain things.

But suddenly, Costa and Silke — our Belgian exchange student friend — brought up the idea of Dirty-Word Scrabble.  Soon, we were seated around the kitchen table, playing as teams.  There weren’t enough chairs, so I sat on Rory’s lap.  Johnny was his own team.  That almost killed it.  But he did well.  He was still wearing his wrist/arm brace from his injury in soccer, which made dealing with the letter tiles difficult, but not impossible.

“How much longer do you have to wear that?” Lyla asked him.

“Through Halloween, at least.  Probably through the playoffs.  But I’ll get checked out, again,” he told her.

“Any better?”

“I’ve got feeling back in my index finger and thumb, so yeah,” he reported.

Lyla tapped at his fingers; Johnny smiled and nodded.

“How was that needle test?”  Lyla cringed a little, imagining a hundred or thousand needles pressed into Johnny’s arm to test for nerve damage.  Hell, I would think that would cause nerve damage.

“You remembered that, huh?”  Johnny seemed genuinely pleased Lyla had asked about it.  “It didn’t.  Didn’t hurt.  No nerve damage, so that’s good.  I just need to keep everything straight while my wrist and fingers heal.”

Lyla continued to play on Johnny’s fingers with her own.

“Hey,” Johnny asked quietly, but I could hear.  “Did you get to see your father this weekend, like you’d hoped?”

Lyla looked down at their fingers.  It took her a moment to answer.  “No.”

“I’m sorry.”  Johnny took her hand.

Lyla coughed and spoke up.  “So, you can still play soccer, but what about your cello?  Will you still be able to play for me at the Winter Concert, like you said?” Lyla flirted.  Did she even know she was?

Johnny gave her a secret smile.  “It just takes practice.  Fast pieces are a little harder, and vibrato…  But I found… if I hold the cello like this…”  Johnny put his left arm around Lyla’s waist, “and hold the bow like this…”  Johnny’s right reached around and he dipped his face into her hair.

But he didn’t get to finish that thought because of Conor.  “Hey!  Ma-Ma-Yo-Yo!  Hands off and let’s get this game started!”

The game began with us making the easiest words — all the four-letter ones we could get the letters for: fuck, cunt, dick, cock, suck, boob, hole — with Conor adding ‘ass’ onto hole.  Lyla played two protest words and placed down amortentia — a Harry Potter word for love, but only worth 12 points — and accio, meaning call or summon.

I saw Johnny put two letters on the table between him and Lyla.  I didn’t say anything, just watched.  It was a U and an I.  Then I had to smile as he pushed the two letters together and raised his eyebrows, looking at Lyla.  She just blushed and smiled, but didn’t say anything.

Costa next got creative with the 14-point nympho.  Rory scored big with the 21-pointer blowjob.  And then Johnny pulled out quim, using my U from suck because his Q could be on a triple-letter-score spot.  Then, on his next turn he built off his Q to make queef.

“Son of a bitch!” Costa congratulated him.

“Who’s got the Z?  Is it still in the box?” Conor asked.  “What’s a dirty Z word?  Zasshole?”

“What about zounds?” Rory asked.

“Not dirty,” Johnny shook his head.  “It’s a crunching of ‘His wounds’ or ‘God’s wounds.’”

“By the wounds of Christ,” Lyla clarified.  “Same with Gadzooks!”  Those two, I swear.

“Same Spanish teacher,” Johnny explained.  “That guy uses zounds all the time.”  Johnny and Lyla had three classes together this year: Spanish, Health, and Honors Geometry.  How could he help but fall in love with her?

“What about zoinks?” I asked with a laugh.

“Wouldn’t that be something?” Johnny shook his head.  “What if Shaggy on Scooby Doo has been swearing at kids for the last fifty years!”

We had a good laugh and zoinks! was said in about twenty different ways for the next five minutes.

Then Silke put down klootzak and scored with her Z.

“What the hell is klootzak?” Conor cried.

Silke was smiling, but suddenly she couldn’t explain without Costa.  She had him stand up.  She poked Conor in the forehead and called him, “Klootzak,” then pulled down Costa’s pants and boxers in one move, grabbed his nuts, and laughed, “Klootzak!”

With the visual demonstration, Conor thought that was the best thing ever.  “Teach me more Belgian swear words!”  One thing I know is that Silke long ago learned not to try and correct anyone about what languages and dialects they speak in Belgium and just let us Americans call it Belgian or Flemish for the time she was here.

Silke took letters out of the box to make onnozelaar crosswise using her double-letter-score Z again!  She and Johnny were killing us.  Why we let her have the points is a mystery.

“What’s onnozelaar?” Conor begged.

“You are onnozelaar, Conor!” Silke said in a growling voice.

“Hear that everybody?  I’m an onnozelaar!” Conor crowed.

“I thought we were playing Dirty Scrabble, Silke, not Insult Scrabble,” Johnny said.

Silke’s eyes got big.  “You know what is onnozelaar?”

“I’m no dimwit,” he told her back.  “You know, in Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, ‘Belgian’ is…”

“Don’t,” Lyla warned Johnny with a laugh.  “That would be impolite to my guest!”  And they shared a laugh, and you could see the sparkle in their eyes.  Another damn inside joke with those two.  Apparently, she had read the same book.

“You are very interesting, Mr. Walker,” Silke said, like she’d just gained a new appreciation for our friend.

There was a vibe in the kitchen, then, as all three girls were looking over Johnny, and then at each other, like we were in competition for him.

Conor didn’t like having the center of attention taken away from him.  “Alright, Lefty, I got a joke for you,” Conor said, making fun of Johnny’s right arm brace.

There was a groan around the table.  Johnny said, “Fine.  But I’ll need a new drink to hear this, I think.”  Lyla almost jumped up to get him some more Wild Cherry Pepsi.  Everyone saw that, host or not.

“Okay, so… Little Johnny is at school,” Conor began.  Johnny sighed and moved in his seat, as if to leave.  “No, no, it’s not about you.  It’s good,” Conor assured him.  “And the teacher is going over the alphabet. “Class, who can give me a word that starts with A?’  And Little Johnny’s going ‘Oh, me!  Pick me!  Ooohhh, Miss Fudrucker!  Pick me!’  And the teacher says to herself, ‘I can’t call on Little Johnny.  He always swears and talks sex talk.  He’ll say ‘ass’ or ‘asshole.’  She calls on Mia, and Mia says…”

“Apple,” I say automatically, as if on cue. 

Conor continued.  “‘Very good,’ says the teacher. ‘Now does anyone know a word that starts with B?’  And Little Johnny goes, ‘Oh, me!  Pick me!  Ooohhh, Miss Fudrucker!  Pick me!’  And the teach says to herself, ‘I can’t call on Little Johnny.  He’ll say ‘bitch’ or ‘butt.’  She calls on Costa, and he says…”

“Baseball!” Costa said, looking quite proud of himself, too. 

“Then the teacher goes, ‘Now does anyone know a word that starts with C?’ And Little Johnny goes, ‘Oh, me!  Pick me!  Ooohhh, Miss Fudrucker!  Pick me!’  The teacher says to herself, ‘I can’t call on Little Johnny.  He’ll say cunt or something.’  So, she calls on Lyla, and Lyla says…”

“Cat.”  An easy one.

“Then teach says, ‘Now does anyone know a word that starts with D?’  And Little Johnny goes, ‘Oh, me!  Pick me!  Ooohhh, Miss Fudrucker!  Pick me!’  And teach says to herself, ‘I can’t call on Little Johnny.  He’ll say ‘dick’ or ‘damn.’  She calls on Silke, and Silke says Darnschnargel, or some shit like that, but the teacher has no fuckin’ clue what the hell that means, so she calls on Rory.  And Rory says…”

“Doggie!”  Boy, we know good vocab.

“Then the teacher goes, “Now does anyone know a word that starts with E?’  And Little Johnny goes, ‘Oh, me!  Pick me!  Ooohhh, Miss Fudrucker!  Pick me!’  And the teach says to herself, ‘What dirty word starts with E?  I can’t think of any.  Okay, I guess it’s safe to call on Little Johnny this time.’ She goes, ‘Little Johnny, what word starts with E?’ and Little Johnny goes, ‘Elf — with a cock THIS BIG!’”

Everyone laughed, even Johnny.  And he and Conor were okay, again, for the day.

But that was it for the game.  I don’t know if using dirty words was supposed to get us in the mood to fuck, but it didn’t matter.  We were already there.

We cleared the game pretty quickly, and then Rory had a surprise for the boys.  “Gentlemen, have a seat.  It’s time to play Hungry Hungry Hippos!”  We didn’t have the actual hippos-eat-marbles game, but everyone got the idea Rory was up to something.

“We got more snacks?” Costa asked.

“Better than that.  You know how to play?  Hands come out, grab one thing at a time, drop it back, and reach out and grab another,” Rory instructed.  All four boys sitting around the table had their hands ready to grab.  “Ready, set, Hippo!”

I poured a box of twelve loose condoms onto the middle of the table and the boys went grab-grab-grab!  They were gone in an instant.

Conor got all bent out of shape.  “One?  I only got one?  What the fuck?  Now I only get to fuck one time?”

Johnny shook his head.  “If everything were fair and even and Socialist, we’d have each gotten three or ‘as many or as few as we needed.’  But this is hippo-eat-hippo warfare.”

“Each according to his fuckability?” mused Rory with a goofy smile.

“Just sayin’,” Costa opened his hand, “I got four.”

We didn’t all run for the bedrooms; there were snacks and lunches to finish eating — body energy.  While everyone was still kind of busy, I drew Johnny aside.  He knew something was up, but came with me silently.  I led him into the guest room.

“Will you do something for me?” I asked.

“Of course,” he said.  There was no condition, no ‘only if you tell me first,’ or anything.  That was Johnny.

“Do you have any nudes you can send me?” I asked.  “I’ve always wanted one, but since we played Operation, I’ve only had my memories.”

“Actually, honestly, I’ve never taken one,” he said, and I believed him.

“Can we do something about that?” I requested.  “Here?  Now?”

Johnny looked at me, studied my face.  And without another word, he took out his phone.  Lyla’s guest room wasn’t used for too many guests, like ever, and was mostly storage, though it did have a bed and a dresser and such.  Johnny moved some boxes off the bed and pulled the nightstand out a little ways.  He set his phone on top by the old alarm clock and checked to see what it would capture, and made some adjustments.  He didn’t say anything, just worked.  He took off his wrist brace and set it off to the side.  He positioned a box of Christmas stuff behind the nightstand, right behind the camera, and sat me on it, but the box jingled.  He decided the jingling was not a good thing, and switched the box with a tub full of Beanie Babies.  It was more comfortable, and I gained a little height, so that was good.

He stood in front of me, far enough away that I couldn’t touch him, and I could see that it was perfect for the vertical camera, which was already filming.

“Hi,” Johnny said.  He was looking right at the phone and me at the same time.  This is why I was sat right behind it.  “I miss you.  I’ve been waiting to get together, again.”

I almost responded, but he put up his finger.  “Shh.  Don’t.  My folks are in the other room.  But I need you.”

Johnny was wearing a soft maroon sweatshirt with a distressed University of Chicago logo over a t-shirt and jeans today.  I hadn’t really noticed his sweatshirt, before; I’d just been looking at his blue eyes.  But I noticed the stylized C as it passed over his face.  He slowly pulled his sweatshirt off and tossed it on the bed behind him.  His brown hair was a little messed, but as he looked up — at me and the camera — he smiled his Johnny smile, and ran a hand through his hair to fix it, unseen. 

His t-shirt was red, a school soccer spirit-wear I’d seen before.  It had ridden up and I could see a triangle of his abs.  He crossed his arms at his waist and slowly, oh so slowly, drew his shirt over his head, just letting me watch his 2-pack become a 4-pack become a 6-pack, and then his chest and shoulders appeared, and then his smile and blue eyes, again.  And the messy hair, which he fixed again for me.

He tossed the shirt at my lap.  “You want that?  It’s yours.”

I didn’t say a word as I brought the shirt to my face.  It wasn’t a game jersey and didn’t smell like one, but it did have some Johnny scent on it.  I let my eyes wander over Johnny’s bod while I inhaled.

Johnny looked a little nervous while he rubbed his palms over his pants.  He glanced at the door, then back at me, and nodded, and smiled.  “We’re good.”  He unbuttoned the top of his jeans and drew the zipper down.  “You gonna take yours off, too?” he asked the camera.

For a moment, I thought about picking up the camera and making it ‘nod,’ but that would be stupid and ruin the whole thing.  I just nodded, myself.

“Good,” he said.  “I’m gonna need some inspiration.”  He pulled his jeans down over his butt and down his thighs to his knees.  He was wearing black boxer briefs.  Then he sat on the bed.  His eyes never left me and the camera.

Very cautiously, careful not to nudge the nightstand in front of me, I took off my shirt, revealing my black bra.

“Oh, that’s it,” Johnny sighed with that smile.  “Keep going.”

I took my cue and cautiously, silently removed my bra, freeing the twins.

Johnny’s face showed his pleasure at seeing my breasts.  “Oh, I want to touch you,” he said, but didn’t stand and walk over.  He just looked like he was missing out on dessert.  He lifted a leg across his knee and took off one jeans leg, then the other and lost his jeans completely.  I wondered if he’d take off his socks or leave them on.  He raised his leg again and took off one sock, then the other.  Of course, he did — they only keep their socks on in bad Russian porn.  Johnny had good feet, like Rory; no Hobbit-toes, or anything.

He stood and ran his hands over his boxers, caressing his cock for me.  I caressed my breasts for him.  He moistened his lips.  He reached inside his boxers and felt himself, straightening his cock, giving himself a slow stroke or two.  I slipped my hands down to my own jeans and popped the button.  I didn’t think I could take off my jeans without knocking over his phone or making noise, so I just slowly unzipped and put one hand inside my panties, like he was doing.

Johnny smiled, his eyes saying so much, but still said, “Oh, you are so…”  He shook his head but did not finish.

He looked down at his hands, then back up at me, and pulled his boxers out and away from his body and slowly lowered them until he just dropped them.  They fell past his knees to his ankles; he stepped out of them and kicked them aside.  He stood upright.  “For your eyes only.”

Johnny was naked in front of me.  Naked for the camera, but also for me.  His beautiful cock stood out proudly, and I wished I could take ahold of it, rake my fingers through his pubes, and suck it, or do anything to it that I could not do without ruining the video.

He didn’t flex, but he did stretch, like waking his body up.  God, he’s beautiful.  There’s just something about looking at a completely naked guy: his muscles alive, seeing his chest to his waist to his legs, his arms showing their power, his hairy cock daring to emerge from his privacy for my pleasure.  And his handsome face.  I won’t compare him to Rory — Rory is beautiful, too, and when I had both of them in my bed that once, I was the luckiest girl on the planet.

My hand moved a little faster inside my panties.  My other hand pretended it was Johnny’s, caressing my breast for him.

Was he done, now?  Would he come forward and shut down the camera on his phone?  And then?

No.  He started stroking himself.  “I want you…  God, how I want you…” he told the camera.  He told me.

It was then I realized he’d never said my name.  He never said anything about my bra or breasts or panties.  This wasn’t a video for Mia.  Rory could watch this video and think Johnny was talking to him, and probably would.  Or more… Lyla could watch this video and know he was talking to her.  A little jealousy streaked through me, but that went away.  I knew he liked both me and Lyla, just like I like both him and Rory, but we both knew that…  What did we both know?  That I was falling in love with Rory, and shouldn’t be with Johnny?  That Johnny could easily fall in love with Lyla, but she wouldn’t be the one to break up with Conor?  That Johnny and Rory had a secret thing going much like me and Lyla did?

Lord help us if any of us think we’re getting married…

Johnny was working his cock for me.  I knew his cock was a little bigger than Rory’s, and that it looked bigger with my little hand working it, but I couldn’t take my eyes away from each long, slow stroke.

He sat on the edge of the bed and continued.

“Oh, you feel so good…” he moaned.  “I wanna fff…  oh, yes…  I wanna fuck you.  You know that, right?  I wanna fuck you…”

He was stroking his cock for me, and I knew it.  And, god, yes, I wanted to fuck him, too.  And we had plenty of time today.  Our next mission, me and Rory, was to get Johnny to join us again.  If Lyla didn’t get him first.

Johnny brought his feet up on the bed, and scooted back a little.  He leaned back on one elbow, giving me a better view of his ass while he stroked.  He was getting faster.

I don’t know how long I watched him stroke that beautiful, hairy cock.  A minute?  Two minutes?  Four?  Whatever it was, it was both too long and not long enough.  I was nearing a climax, if I did myself right, watching him.  But I worried that if I did orgasm, I’d make too much noise on the video, and we’d have to do another take.  Oh, what a shame…  But no, this was going too well.  I couldn’t.

“Oh, yes…  Fuck me!  Fuck me!”  Johnny was going all out on speed.  His hand flew up and down his cock and all the while he was looking straight at me — and the camera, but mostly at me.  I wanted to leap up off the tub and jump onto his cock and tell him Yes, Johnny, I’ll fuck you any time you want!  But I didn’t.  I just thought it — very loudly — inside my head.

I wondered if he’d shoot straight up and onto his chest and belly, or…  And I got my answer.  Johnny sat up straighter, scooted forward, and stood.  “I’m gonna cum…  I’m gonna cum…  I’m gonna cum inside you…  Ooohhh!  gah…”

And Johnny shot his pearly white cum straight at me.  Not at the camera — he didn’t want it knocked over or have the lens covered.  At me.  It came right across the platform and landed on me.  On my chin, on my breasts, on my hands, and dripped onto my stomach.  I wondered if he’d have shot at me if I still had my shirt on, but I didn’t, so it didn’t matter.  Johnny Walker covered my tits with three big shots of his cum, letting the next four or five fall onto the nightstand or the tub or the floor, but every one was caught by his iPhone camera.  And what’s more, what was cooler, was that you could hear each shot as it landed on my skin or the plastic tub or the wooden floor.

Johnny’s body wavered as he stood there, his eyes closed tight, convulsing as he shot and then recovered.  His face a mixture of pain and ecstasy.  I’d seen that once before.  I’d love to see it again, but I want him inside me when he does it.  He gasped, “I lov-… I lov-… oh… oh…” never quite saying anything, just breathing the half-words out.  Then his face looked like he was trying to kiss me or whoever was watching, not all smoochy, but open like his lips were searching for mine.  Or Lyla’s.

His body shook one last time and he seemed to calm down.  He sat back down on the bed, and finally opened his eyes.  He found me and the camera, and smiled.  A sleepier smile than before, but it was still Johnny’s smile.

“You… are… incredible…!  I really need to hold you.  I just want to hold you,” he said to me.

He was killing me.  I’d stopped playing with myself, but I was literally biting my tongue, doing my best to remain quiet for the video, but dying to moan, to call his name.  I was just wading in his eyes.

“Hmm?” he grunted, like he was waking up again.  “Come here.  Let me clean you up.”  He stood and took a step toward the camera.  “Just stay with me.  Stay with me as long as you can, baby.  Stay in my arms.”

His body blocked the camera and the image went dark, but he just stood there, breathing for a time.  ‘Holding’ me.  Then he shut the video down.

I couldn’t wait any longer.  I came forward and pulled him that final foot toward me, pressing him against me.  One hand on his ass, my other found his cock and guided it into my mouth.  I had his cum all over my chest, but I wanted what was left in him.  One of his hands ran through my dark brown hair and he finally called my name.  “Mia, oh god, that was so real…”

His cock clean, I let him free to collapse backwards onto the bed.  Our eyes met and we just laughed.

“Stand up,” I ordered him.  He did while I took out my phone.  “Still don’t have a nude of you.”

He and his cock posed for me.  No mirror, no flash, no hidden face.  Just Johnny Walker naked and half-hard for me.

He sat and started finding his clothes and his wrist brace — everything except his soccer t-shirt, which I was using to wipe my breasts.  He fiddled with the camera app, and sent the video to editing where he trimmed the start and end, and added a fade in and fade out.  It didn’t take long at all, and then he AirDropped it to my phone.

“This is just for me…?” I asked.

“You can share it with Rory.  And Lyla.”  He looked at me with a sense of hope.  “Just don’t spread it all over the school.  Certain people don’t deserve to watch it.”

“Like that one guy’s video?” I said, with a little laugh.  “That guy from Theater making it with the two girls?  And the one was a virgin, I heard.  That was her first time.”

“And second time, too,” Johnny seemed to confirm.  “The dark-haired girl is my brother’s old girlfriend.  And the guy used to date Fiona.  So, when that got around, it’s like a collector’s piece!”

“So is yours,” I told Johnny.  “That was so fucking hot.”

We fixed our clothing and just before I opened the door, Johnny turned me toward him and kissed me long and hard.  I melted into the kiss and by the time we paused for a breath, my tongue was in his mouth.  If we went to bed, he’d kiss me again, but he wouldn’t do it like that in front of Rory.  And he still hasn’t kissed Rory.  That was a kiss just for me.

We exited the guest room to find only Rory in the kitchen, waiting.

Copyright 2025 – Tommy Linarcos
All rights reserved