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Supes' Vacation IV


aurelius

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Supes' Vacation IV

 

 

1

He’s logical; I can do almost anything, so I need that.  I guess he reminds me of my Dad.  So I’m surprised when we’re lying in bed together, and I’m circling my finger around his right nipple and I say “Penny for your thoughts?” and he turns to me and smiles:

 

“Let’s go away.”

 

“You mean, like a vacation?”   I’m a bit stunned.

 

“Yeah, but not one of your historical adventures—a real vacation, at an island in the South Pacific.  I’ve got the money; Dick can take care of things in Gotham.  I want to go away to a place where we can be pampered and I can screw you all night long!”  

 

I can’t help smiling: “I could fly us to the South Pacific now.”

 

“Yeah, sure—and we could find an uninhabited island and make our own hut and catch fish and sleep on the sand under the stars and no one would hear me when I scream as you fuck me.”

 

“Sounds great to me!” I say, but I know that’s not what he wants.

 

“No,” he says, “I want to fly first class on a plane, as Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent, and book one of those big luxury huts next to a lagoon, where we can get up and dive into blue waters, then get out and have breakfast served on a veranda—by two beautiful boys.”

 

“You looking to sell some stock so we can afford this?”

 

“Sure, why not?  You’ve been telling me for a couple years that I’m too serious, that I need to relax more.  Well, this is my idea of relaxing—with you, at a spa somewhere, all expenses paid.”  Now he’s playing with my left nipple, only he’s also biting it.

 

I’ve often thought about taking Bruce on a vacation—even kidnapping him and forcing him to relax.  But I never could do it: spinning around the earth to go back in time while holding him—one microsecond mistake, and I’d lose him forever—so that was out.  And forcing him to relax—that would never work.  So, if this is what he wants, then I want it to.

 

“OK!” I say.  “It’s your money; it’s your vacation.”  I lean over his big, strong body—a body I love and worship—and plant a big kiss on his open mouth.  “I love you, Bruce.  I want you to be happy.  So, when do we go?”

 

“I’ll do some shopping for the best spa—probably somewhere in French Polynesia.  Meanwhile, you get a week off from the Planet and I’ll talk to Commissioner Gordon, and —“

 

There’s a knock on the door and “Bruce?”  It’s Dick.  Bruce smiles: “Perfect timing!”  He gets up, throws a robe around his big shoulders and walks over to open the bedroom door.  “Come on in, buddy!”  Dick comes in.  I’m laying in bed, my ass uncovered.  Dick smiles.  “Clark, you have the most inviting ass!”

 

I spring up out of the bed, fly a little way over to Dick, wrap my arms around his beautiful body and kiss him on his lips.  “Almost as great as your ass, my beauty!”

 

“OK, you guys!”  Bruce playfully pushes us apart.  I’m naked; Bruce has on a robe, and Dick is in a tee and shorts—we could easily fall on the bed.  “We are NOT having a threesome—at least not now!”  He slaps my ass and points me back toward the bed.  Then he turns to Dick: 

 

“What’s up?”

 

“Commissioner Gordon needs to talk with your about the Langnauer case.”

 

“OK; I’ll call him.  But I have to tell you:  Clark and I are going to take a few days off.”

 

“So,” Dick says to me, “You finally convinced him to take some time off!”  He smiles at Bruce: “About time!”  Bruce looks at Dick and then at me, and then back at Dick.

 

“Has this been some kind of conspiracy?”

 

Dick puts his fine arms around Bruce’s neck, kisses him and says, “A conspiracy between the two men who love you most!”  I smile.  Every word Dick says is true.

 

What’s this?  Do I see a blush on the ever-stoic Bruce Wayne?  Dick and I look at each other and laugh.  “It’s his idea,” I say.

 

“Yeah, after two years of hints and suggestions,” says Bruce.

 

“And magazines about the South Pacific left out,” says Dick.  

 

I’m now behind Bruce, with my arms on his big pecs.  I kiss him on his ear and say, “You know, it’s impossible for two guys to hang around a great detective and not learn a few things about clues.”   I nibble on his earlobe.  

 

Dick puts his arms over mine and kisses Bruce again—we have him trapped.  For a moment I wonder if he’ll lash out; then I notice my cock is getting hard.  

 

But no:  Bruce kisses Dick back and then he takes my left hand and kisses my palm—the man can be very romantic—and says, “Thanks, guys!  I love you too!”

 

And we do have a threesome!

 

 

2

In a few days, Bruce has everything arranged.  All I have to do is get a week off from the Planet.

 

We fly out of the airport—separately; neither of us feels comfortable sitting next to each other.  Bruce is in a first class seat; I’m in economy—leaning my big body against the window so I don’t crowd the older guy in the middle seat, with his wife on the aisle.  My cover story is checking out the “lifestyle of the rich and famous” in French Polynesia.  The older couple congratulate me on getting the assignment.

 

Of course, once we land in Honolulu, I can talk with Bruce—with my phone recording the conversation as a good reporter should.  On the smaller plane to Nadi Airport in Fiji, Bruce and I sit across the aisle from each other.  And then on the boat to the island spa, we’re two of twelve passengers, all going to the same spa.  Ever the good reporter, I talk with each couple and ask their reasons for choosing this spa.  I’m not even sure I’ve turned on my phone.  But I nudge my glasses up my nose several times and look as nerdy as I can—I’m pretty good at it.  Of course, out of the corner of my eye, I see Bruce smiling at me.

 

Bruce arranged for us to get the last grass-roofed “villa”; and he even made up a story of how we had to “bunk” together because he didn’t want the Planet to spend more money on a separate villa for me.  “We’ll be fine together—right, sport?”  I nod and nudge my glasses back up my nose. 

 

Bruce has been negotiating upper class social conventions all his life; I still carry with me the hayseeds of Kansas.  So, while he leads the porters—two fit and very attractive young men—to our villa, I tag along behind, oohing and aahing at the water and the palm trees as if I’ve just left Kansas.  We play our roles well.

 

But once Bruce tips the porters, and once the door closes, and once we’re alone, I’m out of my clothes in a whirl and have my arms around Bruce: “So do you want to fuck me first?  Or should we go swimming in the delicious blue lagoon?”

 

He turns, kisses me and says, “We need to swim first—like two guys who just met and are sharing a hut.”  

 

“Of course, you’re right,” I say.  “Can we do it nude?”  I smile.  “No,” he says—the stern Bruce is back.  “And wear something more conservative than a speedo!”  I go off to my separate bedroom, thinking that this Bruce is NOT really on vacation.  

 

“I fact,” he says, appearing at my bedroom door, “Wear this!”  He throws me a clunky square blue swimsuit—“Something a reporter would wear.  I know you have a short number that matches mine.”  He turns and walks away, saying, “We can’t match, Clark!” and I feel like a five year old.  I know why he’s doing it, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.  “And”—he re-appears—“there’s even a pocket in the side of the suit for your glasses!”  The man thinks of everything.  But being able to put my glasses on again is helpful.

 

So Bruce comes out on the veranda looking stylish in a red speedo—showing off his Olympian build and ripped abs and powerful legs . . . ah, where was I?—and I look like a dork in a square blue swimsuit.  I immediately start fantasizing about diving into some boulder or big tree limb and ripping it off my body.

 

But once we both dive in and feel the water, I don’t think about the swimsuit.  The water feels great, and Bruce looks fantastic—and I’m having to fight a boner.  We dive several times, looking to see what’s down in the water;  then we race across the lagoon three or four times—and we each win twice, since I didn’t use any powers.  Bruce knows what I’m doing, so when we dive again, I get a big kiss about ten feet below the surface.

 

We wave at the other lodgers at the spa—most of whom have come out of their huts much later than we did—I wonder why?  And when one couple waves for us to come out of the water and join them for drinks, we do—Bruce signaling to me to follow him.  As I climb up the ladder, I open the pocket at the side of my trunks and pull out my glasses.  We’ve played these roles many times.

 

Bruce introduces himself and me.  I say how lucky I was to run into Mr. Wayne on the flight down to Fiji, since my article is about people who vacation in French Polynesia.  I say I would love to interview the couple.  Carl Simpson is a Vice President of a trucking company in Chicago; his wife Jane is active in the Junior League.  We avoid politics like the plague, but Simpson can’t resist saying he hopes I’m not one of those nosey reporters.  I say, “Aren’t we all?”  and his wife just laughs.

 

They have a good-looking bar tender who pours generous drinks.   Simpson drinks single-malt—Oban, I think—while Bruce has bourbon, straight, and I have a whiskey sour.  Jane has a Pina Colada.  I say I wished I had my phone with me to record our conversation.  Simpson says he’s  glad I don’t.  So there’s some tension there, but Bruce is very good at dispelling social tension, and Simpson obviously likes Bruce a lot—and why not?  He’s a corporate magnate and Simpson likes sucking up to rich people.  So that means I talk a lot with Jane, which is easy to do, asking her about her work with the Junior League and projects helping children.

 

Drinks lead to dinner.  The bartender makes a call; our orders are taken—Bruce ordering cedar planked salmon for me, since he says a poor reporter can’t afford decent food—and after some more minutes of chit-chat, two more good-looking young men bring in our orders.  And the good-looking bartender opens a very smooth Pinot.

 

Bruce is very good at being a corporate bigwig.  He and Simpson have a good time.  I talk mostly with Jane, although I do make a couple of remarks about sports—and Bruce and I bring out an old routine about him liking football while I prefer basketball.  Again, something we’ve done before, but it always works.  It creates some friction: we look like we don’t like each other, then one of us makes a joke and the whole conflict vanishes.  It’s too bad we’re not actors!

 

After dinner, we excuse ourselves; I put my glasses back in my trunks, and we dive into the lagoon, swimming back to our hut with long, lazy strokes.  Once there, we aren’t lazy at all.  Bruce finds some opera music which he turns up.  He gets on the bed, on all fours, and offers his ass.  Which I slap and rub and fondle and eat and then fuck—and Bruce screams a couple of times, like he usually does.  But, as usual, I pull out just before I shoot—I don’t want to destroy such a noble ass with my cock.

 

But I love the fact that he immediately offered his ass.  I usually do the offering.  But Bruce wanted to do something nice for me—and I only love him more when he does.

 

 

3

We fall asleep with our arms around each other—very romantic.  I know Bruce hears me sigh, and I love that I see a little smile on his usually stern lips.  Now, we’re really on vacation.

 

The next morning, Bruce orders Eggs Benedict for breakfast and a massage immediately after.

 

The same good-looking guys who had been our porters show up, delivering breakfast.  They stand at attention at first, tall and fit in their white tee-shirts and pants, eyes always forward.  Bruce tells them they should sit down outside so he and I can talk more freely.  So they leave.  

 

But when they come back in, to clear away the breakfast plates, they also bring a couple of massage tables.  I look at Bruce and say, “Do you think they’ll support us?”  He smiles and says, “Maybe me—not sure about you.”  So I say I’d rather take my massage on the bed—a fateful decision.

 

These two guys are both good looking, but one’s a little bigger than the other.  He chooses Bruce, since Bruce looks a bit bigger than me.  That means I got the really good-looking one.  I look at Bruce; he smiles and gives a slight nod—our signal that I can see how far I can go with the pretty boy.

 

I have on my kryptonite bracelet so that the kid can at least feel my muscles and massage them.  Without the bracelet, I doubt if he could move my skin, much less massage my muscles.  And I strip before I get on the bed—and I catch a little smile and a glint in the kid’s eye as he sees my cock.  First clue.

 

I appropriately say “Aaah!” and “That feels good!” when I can barely feel anything at all.  I can hear Bruce saying the same things, but then he’s got the bruiser masseur, who’s really kneading and pounding Bruce’s back—and I suspect his muscles really need it.  

 

My cutie-pie talks a bit; he asks about my job.  I tell him and then ask about his—and if he likes taking care of “the rich and famous.”  He says he loves his job; this is his first summer on the island and he loves the guys he works with and meeting new people.  I file “guys he works with” away as the second clue.

 

I roll over and asked that he massage my pecs.  He lets out a little gasp when he sees my cock again.  Third clue.  I do have a nice big cock—it’s why Bruce screams when I fuck him, and why I usually bottom for Bruce.  But the kid massages my pecs and only grabs a couple of looks at my cock.  Then I ask him to massage my abs—which he does, still looking at my cock every now and then.  Meanwhile, my cock has been getting harder as he’s gotten closer to it.  

 

The kid can’t keep his eyes off my cock, so I say, very casually, “You wanna suck it?” and the kid dives for my cock.  I note that I hadn’t even asked him to massage my thighs—the kid must be in love with cock, and mine is just too impressive to pass up!

 

But he’s too cute just to have him suck my cock.  I tell him to take off his shirt—and his pants, too, if he likes.  The kid strips almost as fast as I can!  I ask his name: Carlos.  It fits with his curly dark hair and Latin look.  I pull him to me so we can kiss.  And then I pull him on me so we’re naked together in bed.  I quickly get the idea that this is what he’s wanted for awhile.

 

I imagine that Bruce and the bruiser are looking toward Carlos and me.  I imagine Bruce smiles and looks at Bruiser—and he flips himself over on his back.  His big cock is also getting hard—and Bruiser dives for it.  But Bruce takes a cue from me and asks Bruiser his name: Olaf.  That kid of makes sense too—big blond Swede who likes sucking cock; soon Bruce simply gets off the massage table and pulls Olaf down to the floor with him—two big guys rolling around on the floor as if they’re in some sort of erotic wrestling match.   Bruce is so competitive; it sounds like Olaf is too.

 

I much prefer rolling around on the bed with Carlos.  The boy is built: fine muscle tone, excellent cock.  Soon we’re sucking each other’s cocks and letting our hands roam over each other’s bodies.  

 

Carlos cums before I do; this may be due to my better cock-sucking skills, or to the fact that I’m older, or that he’s just hornier.  But the boy cries out as he cums—I like that: I don’t trust a man who can’t shout or cry out or somehow vocalize when he cums.  Bruce mostly grunts—but it’s a grunt which gets close to a scream.

 

And I soon hear Bruce’s grunt.  And Olaf grunts too.  And finally, I cum, and I let out a little yelp—yeah, I know: nothing super about it; kind of a disappointment.  I wish I cried out like Carlos, but I usually don’t.

 

We four lay around in afterglow; I’m absent-mindedly letting my fingers follow the curve of Carlos’ well-toned torso.  He’s letting his hands go down my pecs and abs—and back to my cock.  The boy really does like cock.

 

Olaf gets up and says they have to go.  He comes in my room and looks at Carlos, who also gets up and puts on his pants.  But their looks say something else, and Carlos adds, “You should come visit us in our cave.  I know you like to swim.”

 

Olaf adds, “You swim about 200 yards down the island”—here he points out our window—“and you can get into the cave about ten yards below the surface.  You go into the cave and swim up to the surface.  Someone will greet you with a white robe and you will be led into our gym—and to the rest of our hidden place.”

 

I look at Bruce, and he looks at me.  “Sounds interesting,” he says.  “We’ll do that after lunch.”  And suddenly Carlos remembers that he has to call in our lunch order.  Bruce asks for cracked crab and iced tea.  Carols nods and calls it in.  Then he and Olaf put their sandals on and collect their massage tables, and then pause by the door.  Carlos turns back to us and says—the boy is cuteness personified—“I really hope we’ll be seeing you two at our cave!”  And he blows me a kiss before he turns to go.

 

 

4

Of course, over lunch Bruce and I talk about swimming to the cave.  We have two new—and just as good-looking—young men standing outside our door as we talk.  One looks like an Abercrombie and Fitch model: blond and fit.  The other looks like a college kid ready for a kegger: black curly hair and an impish smile.

 

I whisper to Bruce: “All these guys are beautiful and fit!  Do you think there’s some kind of physical fitness cult here?”

 

Bruce looks at me and says, “I think you’re on to something.  I hadn’t yet gotten to that idea, but, as usual, you sometimes see things before I do.”

 

“Don’t be modest,” I say. “I luck into things—intuition—while you find clues and build cases.”  I take a bite of the crab, drink some tea and say, “But what do you think?  Should we find this cave?  Is there some risk I’m not seeing?”

 

Bruce munches on his crab, then says, “There may be a risk, but I think we’re strong enough to get out of it, if there’s danger.”  Then he leans into my face and whispers,  “Of course, if you’d get rid of that kryptonite bracelet, then there wouldn’t be any risk at all!”

 

“OK,” I whisper back, and tear the bracelet off and hand it to Bruce: “It’s off and back in your hands!”

 

It’s a good thing we whispered.  The Abercrombie and Fitch kid leans in at our door, smiles, and says, “Are you guys coming to the cave?  Carlos told us about you two.  We’d really like you to come to our cave!”

 

Bruce motions blondie to come in—and then he invites the college kid in too.  “We’re talking about it.  But if we’re going there, then we should introduce ourselves.  I’m Bruce and this is Clark.  And you are?”

 

“I’m Steve.”  (Of course he is!) and then, “I’m Dylan.”  And of course he is, too.

 

“Well, Steve, Dylan,” Bruce says, “What do you do in this cave?”

 

“We’ve got a great gym!” Steve says—a bit more enthusiastically than a normal pouting Abercrombie and Fitch model.  

 

“Yeah,” says Dylan, “And you guys look like you work out twenty-four-seven!”

 

“Well,” says Bruce, looking over at me, “I do work out.  Clark, do you work out?”  So I guess we’re keeping up the “we’re just friends” facade.

 

“Yeah, I work out when I can.”

 

“I don’t believe you,” says Dylan.  “Carlos said your muscles were the hardest he’s ever felt!”

 

“I’m just tense from all my work as a reporter.”  I get a smile from Bruce for my answer.

 

“So,” says Bruce, “You guys go to this cave and work out in the gym.  Is that it?”

 

“Mostly,” says Steve, “but there’s also a hidden jungle and drinks—smoothies—which help us build muscle.”

 

“Yeah,” says Dylan, “The smoothies are great after a good workout!” 

 

“And,” I ask, “what do you do in the hidden jungle?”

 

Dylan laughs. “Mostly play hide-and-seek!  I know it sounds silly, bit it’s fun, and there are big snakes which we sometimes have to wrestle.”  He gives my body a good look, “But I don’t think you’ll have any trouble with them!”

 

Steve adds, ‘I don’t think either of you will have any trouble with them!”  He’s hovering nearer and nearer to Bruce.  If he wanted, he could put his hands on Bruce’s big shoulders.  But he’s well-behaved.  “I really hope you’ll both come.  I think all the guys would love meeting you!”

 

“How many guys?” I guess I'm coming off as skeptical.

 

Steve looks at Dylan and says “I’m not sure.  Whaddaya think, Dylan—about thirty?  They’re all on staff at the resort.”

 

Dylan nods and says ‘Yeah, about thirty.”

 

“And is there a cave for the girls I saw as we came through the hotel?”  Bruce doesn’t miss much.

 

“Actually, there is,” says Dylan.  “It’s on the other side of the island.”  He pauses and looks at Steve.  “I guess you’ve figured out that we’re gay, although many of the boys are bi—and the same goes for the girls.  We sometimes get calls to do, well, sort of extra-curricular things, you might say.”  He looks at Steve, who’s glaring at him.

 

“You mean boys fuck the women and the girls fuck the men who come here?”  I am often just too direct.

 

Dylan laughs, “Yeah—but sometimes some of us get invited by both genders—like Mr. Abercrombie and Fitch, here!”

 

I can’t resist a big laugh. “And I thought I was the only one who saw that about Steve!”

 

“No,” says Dylan, as Steve dips his increasingly red face, “That’s what we call him: ‘Mr Fitch’ for short.”  He chuckles.

 

We’re done with our lunch.  The boys take away the dishes and once again invite us to their cave.  Bruce says we’ll think about it.

 

Once the boys are gone, I can’t help smiling about “Mr. Fitch”: “They’re just so cute!  And Carlos and Olaf were good guys too.  I’m all for this!  Don’t tell me you analyzed their sentence structure and found some possible dangers.”

 

“No,” says Bruce, “But if something looks too good to be true, then it probably is.”

 

 

5

We spend the next half hour discussing whether I should take my glasses along.  Bruce is all for it—I have to be Clark Kent, Daily Planet reporter—no matter how much fun I might be having.  And, as usual, I finally see that he’s right.

 

So, our lunch mostly digested, we dive off the pier of our hut and into the waters outside the lagoon.   They’e not as crystalline clear as the lagoon waters, but they’re interesting—especially since I swim deeper than Bruce: schools of fish, a manta ray swimming nearby, even a shark in the distance.  Once we swim about 200 yards, we start looking for an opening.  Bruce spots it and signals to me.  It’s not hard to get there, but you have to look for it in order to see it.  

 

Once we’re through the opening, I can see light above us; we swim to the surface.  There are wide, shallow steps leading up to the cave floor.  We walk out of the water, up the steps.  At first, no one is there.  Then Carlos appears; he’s carrying a big fluffy white robe, and he’s bringing it to me.

 

And Olaf is bringing one to Bruce.  I guess since they “discovered” us, they get to do the honors.

 

But soon Steve and Dylan appear, all smiles—and all the guys are wearing speedos, showing their beautiful, fit bodies.  Have we gone to heaven?

 

Bruce gives me a look and I know I have to put on my glasses.  So I get them out of my pocket and put them on.  Meanwhile Carlos makes sure that the robe fits me well and is drinking up the ocean water—or is it an excuse so that he can feel my muscles again?  I hear in the distance a deep but beautiful voice—a Morgan Freeman voice—calling out boys’ names: “Jason and Mustafa, Damon and Charlie, Abdul and Francois—you’re needed for late lunch.”

 

“This way!” Carlos says, and gestures up some more stairs.  Bruce and I follow.

 

We enter a big room with gym equipment over on the left side and a big archway on the right, leading into a jungle—so the kids weren’t making things up.  But there are also about two dozen beautiful young men, all clad in speedos, and they look like they came from every corner of the globe: African, Asian, Scandinavian, Mediterranean—even one guy who looks like an American Indian.  They’re a rainbow of beautiful men.  And I can’t control my smile—I must be beaming.

 

Bruce, of course, is more controlled.  He’s smiling—how could he not?—but you can’t take a skeptic and put him in front of a rainbow of beauty without him looking for rain.

 

Carlos says, “Bruce, Clark, these are our guys!”  And then he turns to the guys and says, “Guys, this is Bruce and Clark!”  And all the guys say—in unison—“Welcome, Bruce and Clark!”

 

I wave and say, “Hi, guys!  Nice to meet you!”   Bruce nods and smiles.

 

Carlos says, “So do you want to work out?  Or do you want to have a smoothie and talk?”  I look at Bruce: “Wanna work out?”  And he takes off his robe heads for the rings.  

 

Now, Dick is an absolute wizard on the rings, but he’s taught Bruce some moves, and Bruce loves showing off.  So while Bruce swings around a couple times and goes into a handstand and then goes into an iron cross—and the guys oooh and ahh, just like they’re at the Olympics—I’m much more pedestrian, trying to find enough weight to put on a barbell so I don’t pick it up too easily.  I take off my robe and put about 500 lbs. on the bar and do a clean-and-jerk.  Then, as I start to set it down I do ten curls.  And I get the oohs and aaahs—me, the guy with the nerdy glasses.

 

I hear “Show off!” from Bruce.

 

But after the swim and the small workout I’m ready for a smoothy.  I pick up my robe and put it on—as Bruce is doing—and we head over to some lounge chairs and sofas.  Carlos, I see, has already brought me a smoothy.

 

‘What’s in it?” I ask.

 

“Pineapple, mainly, but some lotus extract, Acai berries—and other good stuff!”

 

I take a sip and, instantly, I want about 100 more!  The thing tastes great!  I look at Bruce and say, “Wow!  This is great!”   Then I turn to Carlos and say, “Thanks, man!”  Carlos beams.  I slurp the rest of the smoothie down and ask Carlos if he’d get me another one.  He happily goes off to get a refill.

 

Bruce is drinking his much more slowly—almost as if he’s trying to analyze the composition as he drinks.  I am not as scientific.  But I do notice, after my second smoothie, that I’m feeling pretty amorous.  I pull Carlos over to me and plant a big kiss on his mouth.  He wilts in my arms, saying “Oh, Clark!” as if he’s in some romance novel.

 

But he notices a few more beautiful boys nearby, so he shakes off his romance and says, “Clark, I’d like you to meet Amadi and Dion; they’re also my friends!”  Amadi is a beautiful young black man with muscles for days, and Dion looks like a Greek god: curly hair and every muscle toned and tan.  “Good to meet you, fellas,” I say, shaking their hands.  I wonder if we’re going to have a four-some.

 

“We’d like to get to know you better” says Carlos.  Yes, I guess we’re going to have a foursome.  “There’s a room over there—or we could take a chance and go into the jungle and mess around.”

 

“I’d like to see the jungle,” I say, and all the boys smile.  Amadi says, “This one is brave and big—of course he doesn’t fear the jungle!”

 

So we head off toward the jungle.  I glance back and see Olaf, Steve and Dylan are talking with Bruce.  I suspect Bruce is also in for a foursome.

 

 

6

We walk into the jungle.  Of course it’s hot and steamy.  Already I can see snakes curling around tree branches.  Carlos leads us to a stream and a pond with a nice flat piece of ground where we can fuck.  He pulls me down on the ground to him—but soon Amadi and Dion are also on the ground, caressing my shoulders and back while I kiss Carlos.  Amadi says, “Clark, I have to fuck your beautiful ass!”  And I say, “Go for it, stud!”  

 

He waves his cock around my ass a bit as I relax my hole; then he plugs it in—hard.  I gasp.  This kid doesn’t mess around!  I lift up my ass to make it easier for him, while I’m still kissing Carlos.  Dion is soon under me, slurping on my cock.  So this is a four-some.  Not bad.  I get into a nice rhythm, taking Amadi’s cock while I kiss Carlos and feel Dion sucking my cock.

 

But soon we have a visitor.  I don’t know it until I start feeling a clammy sensation wrapping around my back and abs—I guess it’s a snake.  Dion stops sucking my cock and I start to feel tiny flicks of something on my cock—not Dion’s tongue.  So I get up, Amadi’s cock leaves my ass, and I find a snake wrapped around my body and heading for my cock.  “On no you don’t!” I say, and I grab the snake by its head and pull.   I guess it’s in shock, because the coils come off me and soon the snake is hanging from my hand.  I’m starting to squeeze its head when I hear, 

 

“Clark!  Stop!  Don’t kill the snake!”  It’s Carlos, but soon Amadi and Dion are echoing what he’s said. 

 

“What?” I say, looking at the three beautiful boys.  “I thought you said you wrestled snakes.  Can’t you protect yourselves from them?”

 

“Yes,” says Amadi, “We can protect ourselves from them, but they only want our cum.”

 

“That’s why I pulled off your cock,” says Dion, “to let the snake suck you!”  I’ve let go of the snake’s head and the snake has dropped to the jungle floor and starts slithering away.

 

“But why,’” I say, “would you want a snake to suck your cock?”

 

“Because,” says Carlos, “when they lay their eggs we take the eggs and put them in our smoothies—they’re what build our muscles!”  And he does a quick double biceps to prove his point.  Then all three guys do a double biceps—and it’s cute and funny.  I can’t help smiling.

 

Just then I hear a bass voice coming toward me: “I hear I have a challenge for the snake ceremony.”  The voice comes from this big, tall, muscular, beautiful blonde.  All my young friends have turned toward him; Carlos turns back to me and whispers, “He’s Thor!  He was the last man to give his cock to the big snake!”  Whoever he is, he’s a tower of muscle and I am suddenly overcome by the desire to fuck his big, beautiful ass.  

 

“Sure,” I say, “I’ll challenge you—and fuck your glorious body!”  I rush at the beautiful muscle man and pick him up.  He smiles and kisses my head.  “OK, little man, you can try to take me, but I—“ and I don’t let him finish.  I squeeze his beautiful body in my big arms and he can’t finish; he gasps.  Then I throw him to the ground, strip off his speedo and slap his magnificent ass.  “Thor, baby, I’m gonna fuck your beautiful ass!”

 

I’m not a brute.  I know not to simply slam my cock in his ass.  I finger him and find his prostate and he moans a little.  I smile, nod my head and then I take my thick cock and slowly shove it in his ass.

 

I gather that Thor hasn’t had many cocks as big as mine in his ass.  He gasps, he moans, his whole beautiful muscular body quivers a little.  “Oh, little man, fuck me!”

 

“Gladly, you beautiful stud!”  And I put my hands on his two big ass cheeks and start pounding away.  I thrust, thrust, thrust—I’m fucking like I haven’t fucked in a while.  But as my cock gets harder and harder—and as Thor quivers and moans, quickly becoming a puddle of muscular goo—I suddenly realize I could kill this beautiful stud—and I definitely don’t want that.  So I slow down even as my cock gets ready to shoot.  And I pull out of his ass just in time.

 

I buck hard as my cock shoots a huge stream of cum over Thor’s back, his beautiful blond locks, and some of the guys who have gathered around to watch this epic fuck.  “Ohhhh!” I scream.  Then I quickly reinsert my cock in Thor’s ass and shoot the rest of my cum.

 

After I’m spent, I fall on Thor’s big, beautiful back and say, “Thank you!”  Thor rolls me and us over to the jungle floor and kisses me: “No, thank you, little man!”  And all the beautiful young studs gathered around us break into applause.

 

I hug Thor; he hugs me.  We kiss, we smile, we hug and kiss some more.  I thank him again; he thanks me and says “I’ve never been fucked like that!”  And I say, “I don’t think I ever fucked anyone with such force—you’re a real stud, being able to take it!”  And we kiss some more.

 

Carlos comes over and bends down to me.  “This means that you are the next sacrifice to the big snake!”  I say “What?”  And Thor laughs.  “It means, my friend, that tomorrow you will be tied up, deep in the jungle, and a giant snake will come, wrap itself around your body, squeeze you hard and then take your cock in its mouth and suck you off!”  He’s smiling, though I’m not sure why.  I must look strange—probably astonished.  “Don’t worry,” he says, “I’ve done it several times and look—I’m still here!”  And he flexes his big bicep to prove his point.

 

But just then Bruce shoves his way through the crowd of beautiful young men and says, “Clark, I think it’s time we went back to our hut.”

 

I suddenly feel like a five year old.  I push my glasses back up my nose, squint up at Bruce and say, “Do we have to?  I’m having such a good time!”  And all the beautiful young men laugh.

 

Then Carlos bends to my ear: ‘Yes; it’s best that you go back to your hut.  There’s always tomorrow—and besides, Olaf and I have to serve you dinner!”

 

And this gets another chuckle from the assembled beautiful boys.

 

 

7

I take off my glasses as we leave the cave.  Once Bruce and I walk down the wide stone steps into the ocean and start swimming, I see that, of course, Bruce is right.  The ocean is dark; as we surface and swim I see that twilight has already started.  I wonder if the Simpsons have been curious about our absence.  Definitely Bruce was right—it’s time we were back at our hut.

 

As we climb up the ladder to our deck, Simpson hollers, “Where’ve you been?”

 

Bruce doesn’t miss a beat: “We went exploring around the other side of the island and lost track of time.”  Actually, as an excuse it’s a bit lame—the sun has set; we surely would have seen its descent.  But Simpson nods and seems to accept the lame excuse.  Before we go into our hut, I make sure to put on my glasses.

 

Bruce puts on the opera music again—so are we going to fuck, or—?  His tone of voice makes it clear we’re not going to fuck:

 

“So, did you have a nice time?”  This means he doesn’t approve of what I’ve done, but he doesn’t want to attack me.  I go over and put my arms around his big body. “Yes, I did.  And didn’t you have a good time with Olaf, Steve and Dylan?”

 

That gets me a smile as he turns around and puts his arms around my big body.  “Yes, I did.  Olaf’s a good fuck; he said, ‘Fuck me, big guy!’ a couple times and I didn’t hold back.  Dylan fucked me—wild and crazy and over quickly; the kid barely knows how to fuck.  But guess what?  Beautiful ‘Mr. Fitch,’ the Abercrombie model, Steve?  He’s a great cock-sucker!”  

 

I kiss him and say, “See?  You had a great time too!”  I pause and move back a little. “So what’s with the disapproving tone?”

 

But I don’t get an answer.  Olaf and Carlos are just outside the door with our dinner.  Bruce has ordered T-bones for each of us—a real man’s man’s dinner.  I smile.  He’s upset with me—I can feel the conflict clouding up on the horizon—but he’s still taking care of me: plenty of protein.  I can’t stop loving him.

 

So as Carlos and Olaf serve dinner—and Bruce looks up at Olaf and gives him a kiss on his palm—we chow down and suspend conversation for awhile.  But after most of our meal is over, Bruce picks up the topic again: “So you had a good time with that big Norwegian?”

 

“I had a great time!” I say.  “He’s big and muscled and beautiful.  And his name was Thor—perfect name!   And he could take every inch of my big cock!  I didn’t hold back, and he was able to take it!”  Bruce is well aware of my subtle dig: I’ve always held back when I fucked him—mainly because I don’t want to hurt him—I love him too much!  

 

He smiles one of those thin-lipped smirks and says, “Well, that’s nice!” as if I’ve been talking about a picnic.  I wonder how much Carlos and Olaf are picking up as they clear away the dishes.  There’s a couple inches of ice between Bruce and me.

 

As they trundle away the dishes, Bruce and I stand up and face each other.  He turns to me—gets in my face and whispers: “Clark!  You’ve been drugged!”

 

“What?”  and I’m not whispering.

 

“That smoothie—or rather, those smoothies—they’ve twisted your beautiful brain and are making you a slave to your cock!”

 

“So?  I don’t mind being a slave to my cock!  I fucked a big blond stud and liked it!”  Bruce can sometimes be so annoying!  He really doesn’t know how to relax.  He’s Mr. Judgy again.  “And how can I be drugged?  I’m not even human!”

 

“I don’t know, but something in that smoothie clicked with your Kryptonian DNA—you immediately went crazy for the stuff—and that’s why I took my time to sip it and analyze it.”

 

“Yeah, you drank it like a chemistry experiment!”  I walk away from him; then turn and say, “And I thought you wanted to relax!  ‘Let’s get away, let’s go somewhere so we can get pampered’—you said!”  I’m waving my arms; I’m so exasperated.  “I have a great time and you want to poke holes in it!”

 

Suddenly I get slapped!  Bruce knows just how hard he has to slap me to get my attention—pretty hard.  And I feel it.  I can feel the blood rushing up into my face.  I feel like he’s trying to put me in my place.  I’m looking daggers at him as he puts his big hands on my big shoulders and looks into my eyes: “Because I love you, Boy Scout!”  He can barely get the words out; I already see tears streaming from his eyes.  “And I don’t want to lose you!”

 

I don’t want to agree with him, but I can’t help loving him.  I hug him and say, “And I love you, big guy!” as my tears roll down my cheeks onto his big pecs.

 

So we stand there for a minute or so, our tears rolling down our faces onto each other’s big pecs, still loving each other but exasperated with each other.  I break our hug and kiss him on his mouth.  The kiss gets serious—and soon I’m swooning for him.  I’m such a girl!  I feel his big arms around me and I melt.

 

But I want to stand up for myself, too: “Bruce, I love you, but you’ve got to let me have some space—some fun.  I had fun today!  I love those guys—to hang out with, to fuck and have fun with.  Can’t you let me have some fun?”

 

Bruce kisses me—and once again we get lost in our kiss for awhile.  Then he moves his head back and says, “I don’t mind you having fun.  Carlos and Amadi and Dion are beautiful and fun.”  And I get a little kiss—are we making up?  “But I want you to understand that those smoothies are potent things.  Once I figured what was going on, I didn’t finish mine—and you had two.”  I don’t like what I’m hearing, but I’m in his arms and I love feeling his arms around me. “So, please, go easy on those, will you?”  A pause.  “For me?”   God, I can’t resist him when he begs!  I can’t help more tears.

 

“OK.  I’ll go easy on the smoothies.  But I want to go back tomorrow—is that OK with you?”

 

“Well, you’re sort of committed,” he says.  “And I know that no snake—no matter how big—can hurt you, so if you want to let a big snake suck your dick, that’s fine.”  I break into a smile, but he pulls me back to him and kisses me again: “But I’ll be there.  I can bust through those pretty boys and save my Boy Scout!”  And I love him for that—I kiss him and we hug and we’re both crying and hugging each other tight.

 

Of course this leads to more kissing and hugging—on the bed.  I want him to fuck me; I want him to claim me as his fuck-boy.  I want to re-set our love.

 

 

8

I love the big guy but I still want to have fun.  I don’t even know if it’s possible for Bruce to relax and have fun.  Even here—with an island full of beautiful young men, ready to fuck and suck—he’s found a way to analyze and use his big brain to find a way to make fun a problem.

 

But we’re still good in bed: the love is still there.  I wake up and roll over and kiss him.  He kisses me back and rolls me over so he’s on top.  We’ve spent several Saturday mornings doing this: wasting our time in bed, simply refusing to get out of bed.  Several times, Bruce has called up Alfred to serve us breakfast in bed so we can continue rolling and kissing.  It’s a game; it’s silly—and we both love it.

 

But soon Olaf and Carlos are knocking on the door.  Carlos says, “Breakfast!” as if it’s a magic word.  We both slip on fluffy white robes and go into the main room.  I greet Carlos with a kiss on his cheek; Bruce does the same to Olaf.  We like these guys—and they like us.

 

I turn to Bruce: “So, what did you order?”  

 

“I didn’t order anything.  I thought you did!”

 

“No,” says Carlos, “Olaf and I figured that Clark needs an extra bit of protein today, so it’s scrambled eggs, ham and bacon—simplest is best!”  The boy smiles so much as he says this, that I pull him down and give him another kiss.  “Works for me!“ I say.  And since Bruce is already chowing down, I guess it works for him too.

 

“So,” I say between bites of scrambled eggs, “Is there some sort of protocol for this giant snake sucking me off?”

 

Carlos looks at Olaf and then says, “Actually, it doesn’t happen until this evening.  So you guys can swim and fuck and play around all day—but just don’t fuck too much, Clark.  We want you to feed the snake!”

 

“So, evening?” Bruce asks, “I guess we’ll have to swim back in the dark.”

 

“Or you could stay with us!” Olaf says and judging from the frown on Carlos’ face, it seems Olaf wasn’t supposed to say that.

 

“You mean you guys just fuck and suck all night long?”  Bruce is trying to be light-hearted, but it’s not working.

 

“I think we can find our way back,” I say.  “At least I hope I’ll be OK after the snake milks my cock!”

 

“That’s the spirit!” Carlos says.

 

But I have another question: “Thor sounded like it wasn’t a big deal—but he did say the snake squeezed him—‘hard’ I think he said.  So, how hard?”  I’m not really concerned, but I imagine Bruce is, so I’m asking.  And he sends me a smile.

 

“Well” says Olaf, “After the snake sucked him this last time, Thor needed help getting down off the platform—so I think he got squeezed pretty hard.  That’s why he’s glad you’re the stud tonight!”  I look over at Carlos—but it seems Olaf has redeemed himself.

 

“So,” I say, “We’ll swim over to the cave before twilight—is that OK?”

 

“Sure is!” says Carlos, and I get a kiss before he and Olaf start trundling the trays out the door.

 

After they leave, Bruce and I plan the day: a swim in the lagoon in the morning, then some lunch—Bruce has already asked Olaf for chicken parm—then explore the other side of the island.  And some nuts and dried fruit for snack before the evening.  Sounds good to me.

 

But during our morning swim, the Simpsons invite us to their hut for coffee.  Bruce is very good at making up some fictional things we “found” yesterday—mainly he kept to the shore, and we found starfish and seashells and neat driftwood—and we didn’t know if we could take the driftwood, so we left it.  It sounds like we were ten years old again—which sounded fine to me!

 

Jane has invited another couple to morning coffee: Jim and Merle Thompson from San Francisco.  She thought that I could interview them for my article.  So I run back to our hut and get my phone—good thing I had it charging all night!   And I do get a lot of good information: Merle tells me that they have been coming to Fiji for years—nearly a decade.  They always get the same hut; they always request the same food.  They go for a swim in the afternoon but otherwise, they drink at the cabana in the evening and take one sight-seeing trip around the island during their week here.  And Jim gets an evening to talk sports with his guy friends and Merle gets an evening with her girl friends.  It sounds like a bore to me, but it’s decent information, and it pairs with what Jane reports she and he husband Carl do.  In short, the vacations of “the rich and famous” are boring!

 

Bruce, meanwhile, talks with Jim and Carl—I guess I’m one of the girls.  I hear snippets of “man talk” about sports and even a political opinion or two: nothing too outlandish; Jim and Carl are country club Republicans.  They don’t understand the Q-anon obsession of the far right, and they’ve have real problems with whether or not to vote for Joe Biden—Bruce points out that his reputation is moderate, but Carl, in particular, doesn’t trust any Democrat.  But then he thinks Trump is a loony.

 

But after some coffee, Bruce and I dive back in the water and do a couple of laps, just so we can show the rich folk that we do like to swim—and that’s why we’re in decent shape.    After lunch we take a brief siesta—no sex—before we dive into the ocean side of the pier and start swimming toward the other side of the island.

 

Bruce and I have a good laugh, later that afternoon, when we actually do explore the other side of the island and we find starfish and seashells and neat driftwood.  But we also walk up onto the island and climb up (OK, I flew up) a big boulder and lie in the sun for an hour or so.  That felt like we were really on vacation!

 

But I also do a penetrating, x-ray look around  that side of the island, and I spot a cave.  I tell Bruce and he guesses that it’s the cave for the girls—but neither of us wants to go exploring there—maybe later in the week.

 

 

9

Before we go to the cave for the snake ceremony, we eat some dried fruit and nuts—and I suck Bruce’s cock.   I do this for the protein but also because I want Bruce to know I love him—I have a sneaking suspicion growing in the back of my mind that our love will be tested tonight or in the next few days.  In fact I tell him, just before we dive into the ocean, “I love you.  I want you to know that.  Things may get crazy tonight, so I want you to know that I will always love you.”  Bruce kisses me and says, “And I want you to know I love you—and I always will.  I’ll keep an eye on you tonight; I’m willing to take on the whole host of muscle boys if I have to!”  And of course we kiss and hug.

 

We dive into the ocean and swim toward the cave.  It’s just becoming twilight.

 

As we walk up the wide stone steps, and I put my glasses back on, Carlos and Olaf are there to greet us.  They wrap us in our white fluffy robes and take us further into the cave.  All the beautiful young men are there, saying “Welcome back, Clark and Bruce!”   We are each handed a smoothie.  I start drinking mine.  Bruce takes a sip.  But as soon as I swallow one gulp, I drink the whole damn thing.  Then I look over at Bruce and see disapproval—and I remember that I promised to drink only one.

 

But the smoothie has me jazzed: I start hugging and kissing Carlos, and then Amadi and Dion.  And I start thinking that life would be pretty sweet if I simply stayed here and fucked each of these wonderful, beautiful boys.  And then I look over at Bruce and remember what I told him before we dove in the ocean.  It’s hard to stop being a bundle of happiness, but somehow I’m able to do it.  For now.

 

Carlos, Amadi and Dion lead me toward the jungle.  At the edge of the jungle, Carlos and his friends strip—and I notice all the other guys are stripping too.  I start to strip, but Carlos says, “Not yet.  It’s more dramatic when someone strips you on the platform.”

 

“And who’s going to strip me?”

 

“Me!”  And Carlos is so happy about it that I can’t help but laugh.  Even Bruce smiles.

 

I’m surrounded by Carlos, Amadi and Dion.  Thor is close by—I guess they’re the welcoming committee or something.  I notice  a lot of young men on the periphery have torches.  Well, it is getting darker.  But I flash on Fay Wray in the original King Kong, surrounded by burning torches, a sacrifice to the big ape.  I’m to be a sacrifice to a big snake—same thing, different monster.

 

The torches come closer; they form a pathway through the jungle.  After a while I see that they form a pathway to a platform.  I see two big wooden pillars—thick palm trees—with chains hanging down.  The whole thing is beginning to get more ominous.  If I didn’t know I can survive anything without Kryptonite, I’d be scared.  

 

But I know who I am and what I can do.  I look around for Bruce.  He’s not far away—just on the outside of the welcoming committee.  I smile at him; I’m glad he’s there.  I take off my glasses and hand them to him.  With my sex buddies at my side, I start up the steps to the platform.

 

Carlos turns me around.  Amadi and Dion take my arms and chain them to the palm trees.  Then Carlos rips off my swimsuit—I didn’t like the thing anyway.  The crowd murmurs their approval of my big cock.  Carlos adds a kiss on my lips, which Amadi and Dion follow.  And then, from the corner of the platform Thor comes over and plants a big kiss on my mouth.  He smiles, slaps my butt, and says, ‘You got this!”

 

So now I’m chained to two palm trees on a platform in the jungle, my cock hanging out for all to see.

 

There’s no horn, no sound—just an eerie silence and the suspended breath of all these beautiful young men before me.  And they’re all naked too, so I guess somehow were all in this together.

 

Then I hear a soft shhhhh in the jungle.  And the shhhhh becomes a slither.  It’s behind me.  I try to turn to see it but I only see jungle.  It occurs to me that I’ll be the last man to see the snake as it heads toward me.  

 

But I hear it—and from what I hear, it’s big.  I hear a creak in the platform as a weight comes on it in back of me.  I turn to my left side and see nothing; I turn to my right side and see it—and it’s huge: over a foot wide in diameter and the yellow thing seems to go on for days.  

 

It’s now on the platform.  It nudges my back, then nudges my ass.  I guess it’s pushing to see if the chains will hold me.  Of course they do—because I let them.  Then the big snake slithers around me, nudging my right arm, then my abs, then my left arm.  This guy is no dummy.  It knows it wants me immobile, at its mercy.

 

It goes around me and then around me again and then it starts coiling around my legs and then up around my abs and pecs—once, twice—and then it starts licking my cock, its long forked tongue licking and licking, teasing my cock up, the tongue wrapping around my cock and squeezing it again and again to get it hard.

 

Then the big snake starts squeezing my body: the coils constrict, squeezing the air out of my lungs.  If I let them go on much longer, I won’t be alive.  So I hold my breath and tense my abs and my back—I will myself to become steel, to stop the coils from squeezing the breath out of me.  The snake stops tightening around me; the coils relax. 

 

And then the snake uncoils from my body and slithers in back of me.  I allow myself a breath or two.  And I allow myself a look to one side. then the other—but I can’t see the snake.

 

That’s because the snake has risen up in back of me—it must be a very impressive sight for all the beautiful guys below me.  I glance down and discover that they all have erect cocks—they’re getting off on this.  And I wonder if, after the snake sucks me dry, I’m going to be fucked by thirty strong young men.

 

But I don’t have much time to think about that.  My cock is hard, the snake’s head is above me and now it dives for my cock.  Its mouth swallows my cock.  I can feel its little teeth grinding at my cock.  I can feel its tongue teasing and teasing my cock, getting it harder and harder, working it.  And I suddenly wonder if I’ll buck and ram my cock through the head of the snake—or will the snake sense the danger and pull back?

 

I’m getting close;  I’m starting to pant; I start to thrust my hips and my cock.  The snake only increases its teasing—it wants my cum.  And then I start to shoot.  I buck—and the snake pulls back just enough to save its head while getting the full load of my first shot.  

 

But it wants more, so it keeps teasing, and I keep shooting.  And even after four, five, six shots, it still wants more.  I think I’m spent but the snake has other ideas.  Its tongue keeps teasing; its mouth keeps hold of my cock.  I hadn’t thought of this.  I guess I thought the snake would take my load and be satisfied.  I am such a Boy Scout!

 

I look over at Bruce.  He’s at the edge of the platform.  His cock is not hard; his eyes are locked on me.  I gasp and smile and nod—I want him to think that I’m OK.  I’m not sure if I’m OK, but I want Bruce to think I am.  

 

And I shoot again—and again the snake pulls back just in time before I buck on the first shot.  And I shoot once, twice, three, four times.  I’m getting tired from shooting my cum.  I feel spent; I’m gasping and panting and feeling like surely I’m done.

 

But the snake is not done with me.  It lifts its head from my cock—it seems to know that I need a break, that I can’t shoot more cum just now.  So it coils itself around me and squeezes my body again.  I’m actually grateful—I’d rather wrestle with the snake’s coils that shoot more cum.

 

But soon it’s in back of me again and rising up, and then its diving over my head for my cock—and once again my cock is trapped in the snake’s big mouth, and its teasing, teasing my cock to shoot it more juice.

 

And after several teases, I shoot again.  This time I don’t have a good buck in me: the snake is now mostly in front of me, hanging on to my cock and slurping down my cum.  And after I’m spent, the only thing I want to do is lie down on the platform.  I close my eyes and feel my body sag.  Some Superman I am!  Defeated by a big snake!

 

But the snake is now satisfied.  As it slithers away, the beautiful young men in front of me start chanting, “Clark the stud!  Clark the stud!”   And I open my eyes to see that some of them are shooting their own cum.  Wow.

 

Suddenly Bruce is by my side, holding me up.  Carlos and Amadi and Dion are also there.  They’re taking the shackles off my wrists and letting my arms fall to my side.  I berate myself; any decent Superman would have broken the chains.  But I see Bruce smiling and know he’s glad I didn’t.  I smile back at him.

 

But after a couple of deep breaths, I put my glasses back on, and I’m able to walk off the platform with only Bruce supporting me.

 

Carlos offers me a smoothie.  I say, “You know what I’d really like?  I’d like to lie down and have you three guys shoot your cum in my mouth.  Can you do that?”  Carlos looks a little confused, but he says “Sure!”  And he and his buddies find a place at the edge of the jungle where Bruce lays me down and I open my mouth—and streams of cum fall into it.

 

 

10

But I’m hungry for more.  Bruce is sitting next to me—my left hand rests on his right thigh.  I’m glad he’s close.  But I’d like a smoothie—even though I promised him I would cut back on them.  Then I have an idea.  I ask Carlos:

 

“Do you think they could make me a smoothie just of pineapple juice and snake eggs?  I feel I need some more protein—even though I feel much better after your cum-shower!  Could you get me a pineapple-snake egg smoothie?”

 

Carlos says he thinks he can get that for me.  Bruce has a big smile on his face: “I didn’t know you liked scientific experiments!”

 

“What scientific experiment?”

 

“You’re going to test if some of the smoothie ingredients don’t make you a sex machine!”

 

“I am?”  I push my glasses back up on my nose.

 

“Yes, Boy Scout, you are!”  And I get a quick kiss on my lips.  Clearly, Bruce likes my idea.  I just thought that more snake eggs, flavored with pineapple, would be good for me.  But, what the heck, if Bruce thinks this is an experiment, I’ll play along!

 

Carlos soon brings over the yellowish-white concoction.  I take a sip.  “Tastes like pineapple—but I like pineapple!”  And I take a couple gulps.  

 

Bruce says, “How do you feel?”   I take a smaller sip and look up at him.

 

“Well,” I say,  “I feel less like my cock was milked by some super-snake!”  

 

“But otherwise, you don’t feel the urge to fuck the next beautiful boy you see?”

 

“Naw,” I say, but I see Thor out of the corner of my eye and smile at Bruce, “But I wouldn’t mind being plowed by that big Norwegian.  I sort of owe him after the pounding I gave his ass last night!”  I pause and look more seriously at Bruce: “Would you mind?  You’re still first in my heart” and I give him a quick kiss on the lips.

 

Sometimes I honestly can’t tell when the wheels inside Bruce’s big brain are spinning, and this was one of those times.  Would he mind?  But he smiles and returns my kiss on my lips.  “No, my love, I don’t mind—let big Thor plow your ass—as long as I get to plow you later, back at our hut!”

 

I smile a big smile and kiss Bruce again: “Of course!  Thanks, big guy!”  I take a big swig of the smoothie, get up and run over to Thor, throw my big arm around his big shoulder and say, “Hello sailor!  Wanna fuck me?”  Thor beams a big smile and says, “You recovered from the snake draining your balls?”

 

“I didn’t ask you to suck me, stud—just fuck me.  I think I owe you after the pounding I gave your ass last night!”

 

“Then let’s go!”  And the big guy sweeps me up in his arms—with a little,”Oooff!  You’re heavier than you look!”—and we go into the jungle a little ways and I get down and give him my ass.

 

Thor won’t get any prizes for inventive fucking.  I doubt if he’s as pedestrian as Bruce’s young stud Dylan, but he’s not as good as Amadi—pretty much thrust, thrust, thrust and cum.  Still, it sounds like he’s having a good time, and I definitely feel less guilty.

 

When he’s done, I roll over and we’re both in the grass.  I ask him, “So, did the snake suck you three times like it did me?  I thought that thing was going to suck all of my insides out!”

 

Thor smiles and says, “Yep; that’s pretty much what the snake always does.  I completely slumped to the platform floor—my buddies were afraid I was dead, the last time I gave up my cum.”  

 

“And how often do you guys do this snake-thing ceremony?”

 

“Once a month.” He pauses.  “I know; it sounds barbaric, something neolithic”—and I’m surprised that the big lug knows “neolithic”, but you can’t judge a book…

 

‘But,” he continues, “we do it when the snake wants it—I think it has something to do with the snake getting ready to lay its eggs.”

 

“And you guys steal the eggs for the smoothies?”

 

“Yep.”  And I see a smile steal across his Norwegian lips. “You should come with us—as a sacrificial stud, you’re allowed.  It’s a special fraternity of men who have survived the snake.”

 

But suddenly I want to know: “Survived?  You mean some guys haven’t survived?”

 

“Not in a long time.  There’s a whole network of men around the world who know about this place and encourage the most beautiful and fit young studs to come here.”  He sees that I’m still thinking about the young studs who didn’t survive.  After all, I’ve pushed up my glasses and given him my best reporter’s quizzical look.

 

“Clark,” he says, “I can see you have a warm, generous heart and you’re worried about the guys who didn’t survive.  I can’t tell you who didn’t survive—it was a long time ago.  I’m getting too old to come back to this place next year, but there’s another stud, my age, Adofo, who knows more history.  You ought to come with us when we steal eggs.  It’s the day after tomorrow.”

 

Thor has given me what any reporter always wants: a juicy story.  So I hug him and. kiss him on his cheek and say, “I’ll check with Bruce, but I’m pretty sure he won’t mind.  How many studs in our group?”

 

“With you, five.”

 

 

11

I ask Thor where to meet him for the egg-snatching.  He says at the edge of the jungle, about three—when the snakes like to sleep.  I give him one last kiss and head off to find Bruce.

 

He’s enjoying a pineapple and egg smoothie.  “I like this!” he says, as he slurps the last drops.

 

“Obviously!”  I say, a bit surprised.  “Let’s find Carlos and order some real food.”  Then I holler, “Carlos!”  The boy comes running—and deserves a kiss for it.

 

“We’d like some real dinner,” I say.  I look over at Bruce and then look back to Carlos:  “Can you guys do ribs?”

 

Bruce chuckles: “it’s a five start restaurant, Kansas!  Of course they can do ribs.  Maybe Kansas City ribs—just for you!”  And I get his big arms wrapped around my body.  No, I will not swoon here!

 

“Sure!” says Carlos.  “I’ll phone the order in now—baked potatoes and carrots OK?  Maybe an apple pie or cobbler for dessert?”

 

“You read my mind!” and I give him another kiss before he runs off, his beautiful ass jiggling on its way.  “And order another two servings—I’m extra hungry tonight!”  Carlos waves and runs off.

 

I turn back to Bruce: “You ready to go?”  He nods and we start walking toward the steps into the ocean.  I’m buck naked—nowhere to put my glasses.  I could give them to Bruce, to put in his speedo, but I put them in my mouth—I figure I can get to our hut without opening my mouth.  

 

It’s night.  We dive into the ocean and swim further down.  I know he’s close because we’ve done this before.  I open my eyes wide and use my heat vision to show the way ahead.  I scare off a couple of schools of fish and even some sharks.  Bruce swims up to the surface for air as I continue down below, lighting our way.  The post of the piers come into view.

 

As we climb up the ladder onto our pier, I take my glasses out of my mouth and put them on.  “You’re out late!” Carl Simpson calls from his Tiki-torch-lit veranda.  “Lost track of time,” Bruce calls back as he goes into our hut.  I wave and hope Carl and Jane don’t see me naked.  But even if they do—surely by now they’ve figured out that Bruce and I are “more than just friends”!

 

Once inside Bruce and I slip on the fluffy white robes; then we meet in the middle of the living area and enjoy a nice, long kiss.  I fed the snake and survived.  And Bruce still loves me.  I’m home.

 

It’s not too long until I start to hear the trundle wheels of the serving cart: “Olaf and Carlos are on their way,” I say.  Bruce looks at me, then smiles: ‘Of course you hear them—Kryptonian!”  But I’d rather not be wearing this big robe.  “I’m going to slip into something more comfortable.”  I rush to my room—which I’ve only used to store my clothes—and find a nice blue speedo.  A reward for my cock after feeding the snake!

 

I come back Ito the living area and show it off.  Bruce just smiles; “Yeah, I guess you’re allowed—at least in here.  I do have another clunky swimsuit for you out in public.”

 

“I’m sure you do—that’s why I love you!”  And I give him a another big kiss.

 

“Ahem!” I hear Carlos at our door.  “Come in!” I say.  They wheel in the serving cart.  I spin around and say, “You like?”  Carlos smiles and say, “Very much!”  He comes over and we kiss.  Meanwhile, I see that Bruce and Olaf are also kissing.

 

Carlos and Oalf serve our meals.  But Bruce of course picked up on my ordering extra servings: “You boys should join us—that’s why Clark ordered extra servings!”  Carlos and Olaf break into smiles: “We really love you guys!” they say as they bring extra chairs to the table and serve themselves.

 

“Of course you do!” I say, “And we love you!”

 

“But,” I say, my mouth full of delicious rib meat, “I do have some questions.”  I pause and finish chewing.

 

“Thor says that there’s a group of snake survivors who steal snake eggs—you know about this?”

 

Olaf says, “We know about it but of course we haven’t gone.  Only the biggest studs can go—and I hear they sometimes get attacked by snakes.”

 

“Yeah,” says Carlos, his mouth dripping with rib sauce.  “I suspect that’s why Thor invited you—more muscle if they need it!”  Meanwhile, I see Bruce smiling—he knows when I get into “reporter mode” I seldom let up.  I continue:

 

“And Thor says that there’s a whole network of men who recruit young studs like you guys to come here and work over the summer.”

 

Carlos and Olaf exchange looks.  Haven’t they talked about this?  “Well, yes,” says Carlos.  “I was recruited by a good-looking young friend of my family in Mexico City.”

 

“And I was recruited by a good-looking friend of the family in Minneapolis.” 

 

“So,” I say, “did they just tell you about this place and say you looked like a young stud who would fit in?”

 

“Well,” says Olaf, “It was a bit more than that—at least for me.”  He looks at Carlos.  Carlos adds, “And for me too—he asked me to suck his dick—and I did.”

 

“Me too,” says Olaf.  He’s blushing a little: “I guess maybe it was a test?”

 

“That’s the way I took it,” says Carlos.

 

‘OK, boys, now I have to ask you something—but you don’t have to answer.  How old were you when this guy recruited you?  Were you at least 18 years old?”

 

“I was,” Olaf says.  Suddenly our convivial meal has become more of an interrogation.

 

“I was only 17,” says Carlos.  But then, he’s Mexican, and I’m not sure of the legal age there.

 

Bruce has to say what’s in the back of my head: “Clark, you can’t be thinking of writing an expose of this place!  You love it too much!”

 

“You’re right—you’re almost always right,” I say.  “I can’t write an expose.  It’s just that I get into reporter mode and sometimes I can’t stop.”

 

 

12

Bruce gets up from the table, comes over and puts his big hands on my shoulders.  I say, “Thanks, big guy!”  and kiss his hand.  Then I turn to Olaf and Carlos and say, “Sorry, you guys.  I should have thought of you more than the story.”

 

“That’s OK, Clark,” Carlos says, “You were just doing your job.”

 

I turn to Bruce and say “I really love this kid!”  He smiles and says, “I know you do—you thinking about their sticking around?”  I look up at him and say, “Yeah.”  Then I turn to  Carlos and say, “I could use a fuck tonight.  Wanna do me?”

 

“Do I!!!”  The big kid jumps in my lap and kisses me.  Bruce turns to Olaf and says, “Offer goes for me, too!”  and Olaf breaks into a big smile.

 

Of course Bruce turns up the opera music again.  Even though we’re in our separate bedroom, he and I are pretty vocal as the two young studs push their hot stiff cocks into us.  I think Bruce and I make a pretty good fuck duet!

 

But after our fun, we roll around on our beds with our young studs until they say they have to go.  Carols says, “We’re already gonna get yelled at for being late.  I’ll won’t say what we did, but I imagine someone will guess.”

 

“That’s OK,” Bruce says.  “We’re on vacation.”  And I can’t help kissing him.

 

We fall asleep in each other’s arms—my favorite part of our vacation, and wake up the next morning with Steve and Dylan announcing “Breakfast!” at our door.  This time, Bruce had ordered—ham and eggs with hash browns.  As we eat, I can see that Steve, especially, seems to have something on his mind.  So does Bruce.

 

“You want to say something, Steve?” Bruce says.

 

“Yeah: when can we fuck you like Carlos and Olaf did last night?”

 

I laugh.  “Word travels fast,” I say.  But then I say, “Last night was a bit special.  I couldn’t fuck because my cock had been sucked by the snake, so my buddy and I thought it best if we give up our asses.”  But then I look at Bruce and he looks at me, so I say, “OK—but let’s make it quick.  We want to explore the girls’ cave today.”

 

Steve jumps up and say, “Yes!” like he just won a football bet.  So does Dylan.  I think we just made their day.

 

But, as Bruce had probably figured, they don’t take long at all.  Dylan fucks me—and is ridiculously brief.  I even say to him, “You need to learn how to slow down and hold it!”  But he can’t.  And Steve isn’t much better, although he’s slower, and it looks like he really enjoyed fucking Bruce’s big, muscular ass.

 

But after they’re done, we kiss them and they take away the breakfast dishes.  Bruce calls in an order of sushi for lunch, and we dive into the lagoon for our morning swim—which was, once again, broken up by coffee with Jane and Carl.  Their schedule has changed: today Carl is meeting with some guys and Jane is meeting with some gals—and I immediately wonder if they’re going to have sex with some of the staff.

 

Coffee over, Bruce and I do our laps in the lagoon—we’d given up racing; we’re just doing laps.  Lunch is served by Amadi and Dion.  It doesn’t take a famous detective to see the longing in their eyes.  I say, “Sorry, guys, but our asses are closed for the rest of the day—and tonight my ass is his.  Better luck next time!”   But Amadi takes it in stride—he’s already plugged my ass, and Dion settles for a long, deep kiss from me.

 

 

13

After Amadi and Dion leave, Bruce and I take a little rest.  Then we dive into the ocean and start swimming around the island.  I’m wearing a dorky yellow swimsuit with my glasses in the pocket—I guess I’m OK with looking like a dork.

 

I find the opening to the girl’s cave and signal for Bruce to follow me inside.  It’s just like the boys’ cave: wide steps coming up out of the water.  I put my glasses back on.  Bruce and I walk up but no one is there to welcome us.  In fact, it seems as though they’re ignoring us.  So we keep looking around and walk further into the cave.  There’s a gym on the left—just like the boys’ cave—and there’s an arch to the right. But where the boys have a jungle, the girls have a meadow with palm trees and date trees and bushes with big flowers and a lot of birds—a whole lot of birds.  And there are stone walls around the meadow.  Bruce says that he guesses the walls are from an extinct volcano.

 

“And you’d be right, big man!”  A big bosomed woman comes over to us.  “But it’s not the same volcano that surrounds the boys’ jungle.”  She pauses, then holds out her hand and says, “I’m Betsy—some call me Busty Betsy.”  I can’t hide a smile.  “Yeah,” she says, “I know—you’re probably saying the name fits.”

 

“Well,” I say, “I was thinking it.”

 

“My buddy is too much of a Boy Scout to actually say something like that!”

 

“You guys must be the hunks the boys have been talking about all week.  I hear you, Mr. Glasses-Who-I-Don’t-Believe-Needs-Them, gave your cock to the big snake yesterday—and here you are, poking your nose into what is clearly not your business!“

 

“I’m just curious,” I say.

 

“Professional hazard,” Bruce says, “He’s a reporter—always sticking his nose where it shouldn’t be.”

 

Then Betsy turns to Bruce: “And I hear you own, what, half of Pittsburgh?”  Bruce smiles and says “Wrong city, but pretty close.”

 

But while we’ve been talking, girls have been gathering around us—and they’re pawing at my arms, my back, even my cock in my swimsuit.  I look at Bruce.  He says, “Don’t look at me!  You’re Clark the Stud!  You should be able to handle this!”

 

Other girls start rubbing and caressing Bruce’s arms.  One says, “I just love a man with muscles!”  Another says, “We don’t get to fuck many muscle men.” And a third says, “Yeah—just rich fucks with flabby bodies.”  And I wonder if Carl Simpson is one of those rich fucks.

 

But then a girl starts playing with my glasses.  “Actually,” she coos, “I just love a man with glasses—so distinguished!”  And she puts her leg over my thigh and starts humping me!   It occurs to me that the girls are using the silliest sexual stereotypes on Bruce and me—do they really think such stuff works?

 

Betsy butts in: “Alright girls, you’re scaring the beef!  Besides”—she looks at Bruce and then me—“I’ll bet these two studs are gay as can be—right boys?”  Bruce smiles and nods.  I dip my head and push my glasses up my nose.  Then she says, “Come on, boys!  I’ll show you around.”

 

I am so relieved!  I love Betsy.  I follow her like a puppy dog.  And I don’t know if Bruce is smiling at me or at Betsy or the whole scene.

 

Betsy turns to me and says, “You look pretty meek, but what you did—giving your cock to that big snake—that was not meek.  You’re a stud!”  And I get a quick kiss on my cheek.  Bruce is really enjoying this.  “Yes, he is!” he says.

 

Betsy turns to him and says, “And I’ll bet you love fucking this hero—don’t you!”  Now Bruce looks a bit embarrassed.  “Yes, I do,” he says.  I want to suck his cock—right here, right now.

 

But Betsy is giving a tour:  “We don’t have snakes.  We get our protein from birds’ eggs.  I don’t know who started this, but it works for us.  We keep the meadow watered by making sure the streams don’t slop flowing.  The birds get their seeds and fruit and we get their eggs.  And, as you see—they stay around!”  She waves her hand around, showing us the meadow with a lot of birds with colorful plumage flying and chirping.

 

I’m sure I’ve been hearing names in the background, but now I hear a soft, low female voice—a Meryl Streep counterpart to the Morgan Freeman voice at the boys’ cave—announcing various girls who have to leave: “Jane, Athena, Cleo, Amara, Juliet—sex time.”  And now I’m sure those girls are going to have to deal with rich fucks.

 

“Like the boys, we have girls who have sex with women and girls who have sex with men.  And you two fine hunks are chick-bait for a lot of girls who are tired of servicing fat old men.”  She steps back a little and says, “My, but you are!  I’m happy as a dyke, but I’d fuck either of you right now!”  And she comes over to me and lays a big sloppy kiss right on my lips.  “You’re a cutie!”  And then she slaps my butt—I don’t know if I’ve been kissed by a woman or a man.

 

Bruce comes to my rescue: “Do you and the boys ever, like, visit each other’s caves?”

 

“Every now and then a brave boy will have a summer fling with a girl, and he’ll come over for a visit—but usually the girl, after showing him around, wants to keep him for herself and wants to keep him away from the greedy fingers of the other girls!”  She pauses.  “And he, of course, wants to keep her away from the other guys.”  Betsy smiles.  “I guess you’ve noticed that there’s some prime beef in the boys’ cave!”

 

“Oh yes,” Bruce says, ‘we’ve noticed!”   Betsy lets out a big, full-throated laugh.  “I love you gay guys!”

 

Betsy rules the girls cave.  As long as we’re with her, we are not attacked—but I have the impression that without her, we’d be swamped by girls.  I imagine Bruce could fight them off, but I’ve never hit a girl in my life—so I’m a bit more scared of them than I was of the giant snake!

 

 

14

Betsy leads us back to the cave entrance.  She stops and gives me another kiss; then she turns to Bruce: “You need to take your Boy Scout hero out of here before all the estrogen messes with his head.  You, I think, could fight them off—him, I don’t think so!”  And she laughs again—but not as big.

 

Bruce says, “You are an astute woman, Betsy.  My love is too much of a gentleman.  He’s never hit a woman in his life—and I’m afraid he couldn’t handle aggressive girls.  But we both thank you for the tour!”

 

Bruce takes my arm and leads me back down the cave steps.  I put my glasses back in my swimsuit.  We dive back into the ocean, and I’m very glad to be surrounded once again by water.

 

But we don’t swim back to the hut.  Instead, Bruce signals for us to swim further around the island.  I’m happy for the exercise.  I can tell by the sun that it’s only mid-afternoon.  I imagine Bruce will want to spent the evening by ourselves—we really haven’t had much time by ourselves.  And I’m all for it.

 

Bruce gets out at some big rocks.  I’m right behind him: sunbathing sounds good to me.

 

Once we get settled on the big hot boulders, I turn to Bruce and say “Thanks for getting me out of there!  I was curious.  I wanted to know, but you were right—I really couldn’t handle all those aggressive girls!”

 

Bruce rolls over on top of me and kisses me: “I know, Boy Scout!  You’re a perfect gentleman.  You’re so strong and fast that you usually don’t have to face hard choices.  I face them all the time.”  Then he kisses me deeply before he says, “It’s why I love you—you’re so strong, so pure.  You keep my darker impulses in line!”

 

And of course I pull him down to me and kiss him big and hard and a long, long time.

 

When we come up for air, we’re both smiling.  We look into each other’s eyes, but I notice something in the corner of mine.  Bruce says, “What’s wrong?”

 

“I don’t know.  But there’s a boat out in the water and it doesn’t seem to be going anywhere.”

 

Bruce looks over his shoulder; then he rolls over and sits up.  We both watch the boat—it’s just drifting there.  He says, “Clark, could you swim fast out to that boat and peek over the side to see what’s going on?”

 

“Sure” and I jump off the boulder into the water and swim fast.  I slow down when I get to the boat; I pull myself up slowly and peek over the side.  I see three guys asleep—each face down on the deck.  I turn back to Bruce and say, “It looks like everyone’s asleep.”  Bruce dives into the water.

 

I stay by the boat.  I notice that it’s drifting toward the boulders with the incoming waves.  When Bruce gets to the boat, he immediately pulls himself up and jumps onto the deck.  I follow.  But I know instinctively that this is Bruce’s scene—he’s already acting like a detective, going around and bending down to look at each of the three men.  He turns to me and says, “Don’t touch anything.  They’re dead.  This is a crime scene.”

 

So I don’t touch anything.  “Do you want me to push the boat toward shore?  Away from the shore?”

 

“Yeah, you’d better get back in the water and keep the boat from crashing into the rocks.”  So I dive back in the water and start slowly paddling to counteract the waves pushing the boat toward shore.   

 

Bruce is on the boat’s radio, calling Harbor Patrol: “My friend and I noticed a boat drifting in the water; we swam out to it and have found three bodies—I think they’re all dead.  You’d better come and take a look.”  And then he gives the boat’s coordinates and call numbers to the dispatcher—of course he noticed the call numbers; he’s Bruce!

 

“Why do you think they’re dead?” I say from the side of the boat.

 

“Discoloration of the skin—a sign they’ve been poisoned.  We may have to ask some of our beautiful serving-boy friends what they know about who made food for whoever these guys are.”

 

I keep slowly paddling to keep the boat in place.  Bruce keeps looking at the horizons, to see Harbor Patrol.  When he spots them, he says to me, “You’d better get back on board—and dry off.  And put on your glasses!”  He says that last thing with a smile.  I do what he says.  Usually when I’m investigating a crime scene, I’m on dry land, wearing a suit and my glasses.

 

 

15

The Harbor Patrol boat has a nice surprise:  Thor, all decked out in a dazzling white uniform, with the top three shirt buttons unbuttoned, showing some of his big pecs.  I can’t resist:

 

“Thor!  I didn’t know you work for Harbor Patrol!”

 

“It’s my day job,” he says and he throws me a line to tie up the boat to be dragged into port.  He motions for me to come closer; he whispers, “Don’t forget tomorrow afternoon!”  “Got it!” I say—and then it occurs to me that I may be going alone; Bruce may be caught up in this mystery.  But it’s OK; I trust Thor.

 

Meanwhile, his superior, an islander, is stepping onto the boat with an iPad:  “I’m Commander Tawake,” he says, extending his hand.

 

Bruce takes his hand and says, “Bruce Wayne; my friend is Clark Kent.  We were sunbathing on those boulders over there”—he points to the boulders and Cmdr, Tawake looks; then he goes back to scribbling on his iPad—“when Clark noticed this boat was drifting in the water.  We swam out, peeked onto the deck and saw three men unconscious.  We called—no answer.  So we came aboard; I looked more closely at the men and called you.”

 

Cmdr. Tawake asks, “And why did you think they were dead?”

 

“Discoloration of their skin.  I work sometimes with Commissioner Gordon back in Gotham City.”

 

“You must be busy there!”

 

“Yes, we are—which is why I dragged Clark into this vacation.  We’ve had a good time swimming and exploring around the island.”

 

“OK; thanks for the call.  I think your read of the scene was right.  We’ll take it from here.  But I hope you’ll stay on the island for the next few days.”

 

“We leave on Saturday.”  Bruce looks down and then asks, “Who rented this boat?”

 

“A man named Altima.  You know him?”

 

“No; never heard of him.”

 

Tawake nods and then says, “Can we give you a lift to your hut?”

 

“Yes, we’d like that—just get us close; we’ll swim the rest of the way.”

 

Cmdr. Tawake gets back on the Harbor Patrol boat.  We join him—Bruce motioned that we should; I figured we should get out of the crime scene.  Thor starts the engine up and the boat starts back around the island.  When we get close to our hut, I ask Thor to slow down some.  I put my glasses back in my dorky swimsuit, and Bruce and I dive in the water and swim to our pier.

 

Of course other folks see the Harbor Patrol boat and of course Carl and Jane see us dive and swim to our hut:

 

“What happened?” Carl yells.  “Come on over, have a drink, and tell us about it!”  So we don’t even get to go to our hut.  We swim over to the Simpsons—and soon the Thompsons are also there.  I climb the ladder and put my glasses on.  It’s still afternoon—still hot.  Bruce and I stand in the sun.  Carl and Jane hand us towels—nice and fluffy.

 

The Simpsons’ cabana boy has to find more chairs for us—and he calls for another drinks tray.  Soon I see Steve and Amadi coming down the pier with another drinks cart.

 

Bruce tells everyone the same story he told Cmdr. Tawake.  Just like Tawake, Carl asks how Bruce knew the men had been poisoned—and Bruce gives him the same answer he gave Tawake.  My man is very good at keeping his story straight.  But when he talks about the poisoning, I look over at Steve and Amadi and wonder what they might know.

 

 

16

Carl makes sure that everyone has fresh drinks: Bruce orders a bourbon, straight—the man’s predictable.  But since I’m not buying, I order a Glen Fiddich, with a splash.

 

Bruce asks Carl if he knows anything about Altima.  Carl turns to Jim and says, “Didn’t we meet that guy—at the bar?”  And Jim says, “Yeah—wasn’t he involved with Import-Export in LA?”  Then Carl turns to Bruce and says, “Yeah; Jim and I met him last year at the bar—big Dodgers fan.”

 

Bruce probes for more: “Did he say anything about his business?”

 

Jim says, “Only that it was very good.’” Then he looks around—at Carl, at Bruce and even me—and nearly whispers, “But I did hear, back home, about some guy named Altima in LA who smuggled stuff.  Sorry, but that’s about all I can remember.”

 

“So,” says Bruce, “we have an import-export businessman who probably smuggled stuff.”

 

I smile and say, “My buddy works with the police back in Gotham—he’s already smelling a motive.”

 

Bruce laughs and says, “But I’m on vacation!  I’m not being paid to smell anything but this fine sea air!”  And he spreads his big arms as if welcoming all the late afternoon air around us.  It’s an act, of course, but it lightens the mood.  I’m still glancing at Steve and Amadi—and yes, I’m pretty sure they do know something.  

 

I’m not sure how much Bruce wants to share with Carl and Jim and their spouses, so I say, “I’d like to go back to our hut and shower—it’s been a long day of swimming—and other things!”  I pause, then add, “And you did order us a good dinner!”

 

Of course, Carl and Jim want us to stay—I think we’ve provided some excitement, and they want more.  But getting a shower and a change of clothes is understandable.  Carl extracts a promise from Bruce to come back after dinner for more drinks.

 

But Bruce is already standing up.  He promises that we’ll stop by after dinner—we have a filet mignon ordered, and he doesn’t want it to go to waste.  Carl and Jane understand.  Bruce thanks Carl and Jim for the drinks and the information.  As we leave, I nudge Steve and whisper, “we need to talk—later.”

 

We walk back to our hut.  I really do want a shower.  Bruce is already thinking about ways to get some of our beautiful serving-boy buddies to stop by.  He calls up the hotel gift shop and orders two Hawaiian floral shirts—size XXL—for both of us: his in red, mine in blue.  And he asks that they be delivered to our hut.  If we’re lucky, Steve and Amadi will make the delivery.

 

Or not.  While Bruce is showering, Carlos and Olaf make the delivery,  I welcome them in and kiss them both.  Then I say, “Something happened today—“ and Carlos interrupts: “We know!  You guys discovered a murder!”  And, once again, the boy is so cute when he’s enthusiastic that I have to hug and kiss him.  But I say, “So Bruce wants to talk with both of you—and Steve and Amadi, who I hope will be bringing dinner.  Sorry, but we didn’t order double orders this time!”

 

“That’s OK,” says Olaf. “We already grabbed a snack.  We figured that you wanted to talk with us when you ordered the shirt.  By the way—try it on!”  And he hands me the red one.

 

“Nope,” I say, “Bruce likes red.  I’m the blue.”  But I take the blue and try it on.  It fits—in fact, I imagine I look pretty good.

 

Carlos proves it: “Wow, Clark, you are such a stud in blue!”  I smile—if only he knew.

 

Bruce comes out and puts on the red shirt.  He looks damn fine.  And we know we both do—and so we kiss.  “I just put this on—now you act like you want to take it off!”  Bruce laughs—as do Carlos and Olaf.

 

Bruce says, “We both love you guys, but I need you to tell me some things.”

 

“Are we going to help with your investigation?”  Once again, Carlos is being cute and enthusiastic.

 

“It’s not my investigation,” Bruce says.

 

“It’s just that he can’t help himself.  We’re both nosey—it’s just that he’s more nosey about crimes.”

 

“What I know,” Olaf says, “is that Altima’s meals have been cooked and prepared by Kobe and Danny.  They hang out together; they’re both straight, and they don’t hang out much at the cave.”

 

“Yeah,” says Carlos, “I’ve seen them come to the cave, work out at the gym, shower and leave—they don’t even get a smoothie!”  Bruce looks at me and says, “Maybe that’s not a bad thing—but it tells me that they don’t play around.  So maybe they had some sort of mission.”

 

 

17

Steve and Amadi arrive with dinner.  Bruce lets them in, kisses them both, and invites them to sit down—even though there’s not enough chairs.  Amadi sits his fine body on the floor.

 

Bruce and I start to eat.  We’re both famished and we’re eating too fast.  But the steak is great.  I can’t not share.  I give bites to Steve and Amadi.

 

But then I have to ask, “Why were you two guys looking at each other when Bruce talked about Altima’s death?  What do you guys know?”

 

Amadi jumps up and says, “I just have to say this: can we suck and fuck you guys first?  You’re just so hot—I could hardy stand it when you were sitting there at the Simpsons, in all your muscled glory!”  And Amadi soon has his hands on me, massaging my shoulders.  I look at Steve; I’m guessing he feels the same way—and he goes over to Bruce and starts massaging his shoulders.

 

I look at Bruce and say, “This was supposed to be your night to ride my ass.”

 

Now Carlos pipes up: “Oh wow!  Can we watch?  You guys are so hot!”

 

“What’s with you guys?” Bruce says. “What’s made you guys a bunch of horn dogs?”  

 

“You did,” Steve says.  “I’d love to rip this pretty shirt off you and push you down on a bed and suck your big dick!”

 

Bruce kisses Steve’s hand but gets up; I follow.  “Guys, we both love you all, but you’re not going to fuck us or suck us unless we let you.”  I look over at Bruce; he nods and we slowly take off our pretty shirts and then pick up a boy in each hand.  I hold Carlos and Olaf above my head.  “Oh, fuck me, Clark!” Carlos says. He’s giggling. I say “Maybe later, buddy.”

 

Bruce and I let the boys down and set them on the floor.  Bruce starts to wag his finger at them.  I say, “Really?  The finger?”  And Carlos laughs; he turns to Olaf and says, “Aren’t they great!  I just love them!”

 

But Bruce is focused: “If you love us, then tell us what you know about Altima!”  He looks at me and smiles; then he turns to the guys: “Each fact you give us, you get to take off a piece of clothing.  And when you’re naked, we’ll fuck—deal?”  The boys’ heads nod like bobbleheads.  “Steve, you and Dylan go first.  Carlos and Olaf, you’ve already told us some things, so off with your shirts.  Carlos and Olaf strip out of their t-shirts.

 

Steve looks over at Carlos and frowns—he’s jealous.  “OK—Kobe and Danny prepare Altima’s meals.”

 

Bruce frowns: “Olaf already told us that.  More!”

 

Amadi is pulling at his t-shirt.  “Kobe and Danny work together—in fact they seldom talk; they seem to have their routine down before they come into the kitchen.”

 

Bruce says, “Good—strip.”  Amadi smiles big and strips—woof!  Such muscles!   Steve is pulling at his t-shirt; he wants so bad to take it off.  I’m loving this: beautiful boys stripping—what’s not to like?

 

Bruce wants to help Steve out: “Did you see Kobe and Danny make lunch for Altima?”

 

Steve beams: “Yes!  And I saw Danny go into the pantry and bring out a small vial of something.”

 

Bruce smiles and says, “OK—strip.”

 

Steve strips—he’s giddy about it.  Is that a boner I see in his pants?  All four boys have ripped abs and good pecs—it’s a great show!

 

“So,” I say, “More facts so you lose your pants and sandals.”

 

Olaf says, “I overheard Kobe say something about a shipment when he was talking to Danny.”

 

“Good!” says Bruce. “Pants off!”  Olaf is happy to get out of his pants—mainly because his dick is hard and breaking through his shorts.  But he doesn’t care.  I imagine he knows his three buddies all have woodies too.  It’s kind of wonderful, causing this much wood in such hot young men!

 

“OH!” Steve nearly explodes.  “And I know that Danny sells dope!!”

 

“OK!“ I say.  “Lose your pants, Mr Fitch!”  And Steve does just that—and yep, there’s his boner!

 

I turn to Bruce: “So we know that these two guys, Kobe and Danny, prepared Altima’s meals, and Danny got a vial of something, and they knew about a shipment and Danny deals dope.  Is that enough for tonight?”  Bruce looks at me and says, “You are SUCH a Boy Scout!  You’re taking pity on these horn dogs with their raging dicks, aren’t you!”   I duck my head and smile and say, “Yeah, I am.  Do you remember what it was like to be 19 and have a boner?”  Bruce looks like he’s thinking: “Yeah, I guess you’re right!  So, who fucks and who sucks?”  All the young studs are having a hard time standing there, rocking back and forth on their feet, their boners wagging.  Carlos steps out of his pants.

 

“Well,” I say, “this was supposed to be your night, but I’ve been fucked by Amadi—even though he didn’t get to finish--and he’s pretty good!  And Carlos is dying to fuck me, so, do you mind?”  “Not at all, Boy Scout!”  He turns to the boys and says, “Amadi, you fuck me; Steve, you suck me.”  So I motion to Carlos and say, “Now you can fuck me—and Olaf, suck me!”  I put my arms around the two young studs, kiss both of them, and lead them to my bedroom.

 

Neither Bruce nor I make a lot of noise.  But it’s a good thing Bruce turned on the opera music again—Carlos and Amadi are making plenty of noise with their “oohhs” and “aahhs” and “so tight!” and  “Feels so good!”  I don’t know about Bruce, but I’m smiling ear to ear, enjoying the sounds of young studs in fuck heaven.  And Olaf—surprise—turns out to be a good cocksucker!   I make sure to pull my cock back just before I cum.  And after Carlos has wailed on my ass to cum heaven, I invite Olaf to fuck me as well—why not?  They’re only young once!

 

 

18

I learn that Bruce went down on Steve and sucked him off as Olaf was fucking me.  So all the young studs got to cum.  I have my arms on Carlos’ and Olaf’s shoulders as we come out of my room; Bruce has his arms around Amadi and Steve.  When we all get to the living area, I kiss Bruce while still holding Carlos and Olaf.  And I see that the boys get the hint—they kiss the guy opposite them.  It was a good fuck session.

 

While the boys are putting their clothes back on, Bruce and I run back to the bathroom and clean up the cum spilling out of our asses.  Then we put speedos on and put our shirts back on as we come back into the living area.  All the studs are dressed now; Carlos says, “I think I could fuck you again, you both look so hot!”  And the other boys nod.

 

“Play time’s over,” Bruce says.  “Clark and I are going to do some thinking.”  He pauses.  “Don’t you have a thing tomorrow at the cave?”

 

“Right!” I say.  “I’m stealing eggs with Thor and other snake survivors.”  I turn to the boys and say “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow at the cave!”  

 

“But what about Bruce?” Steve says plaintively.  It seems he has a thing for my lover.

 

“I think I’ll have a talk with Commander Tawake about the case.”

 

Carlos says, “You’re not going to mention our names, are you?  We could get in trouble!”  The other guys nod.

 

Bruce smiles: “I know how to bring up information without revealing sources.”

 

“We both do,” I say.  I look over at Bruce and say, “He’ll probably say that he’s deduced that someone in the kitchen poisoned Altima, and that it wouldn’t be hard to find out who was preparing their meals.  In fact, with some decent police work Commander Tawake probably already knows most of what you told us—except, perhaps about Danny dealing dope.”

 

“But you’re not gonna say that I told you!”  Steve is afraid—not a good look for an Abercrombie and Fitch model.

 

“No,” says Bruce.  “All I have to do is say that Altima was in import-export, and that my friend Jim said he heard Altima smuggled—and that means either guns or dope of some kind.  Again, this is basic police work.”

 

“Still,” I say, “if Danny and Kobe threaten you, give me a call and I’ll come over and pick them up and toss them in the ocean.”  I give Steve my phone number and the boys laugh—but that nervous laugh where they’re more afraid than happy.

 

“And besides,” Bruce says, “how can you get in trouble if you’re helping the police with their investigation?”

 

“I’m not worried about the police,” says Steve, “I’m worried about the bad guys.”

 

“Then call me,” I say.  Clearly the guys are worried.  I give each of them a hug—and Carlos lets his hands wander over my muscles—and Bruce hugs them too.  As they leave, I say, “Il see you tomorrow at the cave!”

 

After the boys are gone, I put my arms around Bruce and hug him tight.  I take a deep breath; I love the way he smells.  He says, “Are we supposed to be thinking?”  But I nibble at his ear and wonder if he can feel my smirk: “You still interested in riding my ass?”  He spins around, picks me up and says, “I love riding Boy Scout ass—any day or night!”  I giggle as he throws me over his shoulders—I love how strong he is—takes me to his room, throws me on his bed, and—so on.

 

 

19

The next morning, we’re up early.  Bruce wants a shave and shower before going to see Tawake.   I take a shower too—just to wash off the sex funk.  And I burn off some stubble to look more clean cut.  I put on my dorky blue swimsuit and my pretty blue shirt; I soon see that Bruce has on dorky dark red trunks and his pretty red shirt.  It makes sense: he’s going to see Tawake; no use strutting around in a speedo.  We’re also both in sandals—it looks like we won’t be swimming much today.

 

Steve and Amadi deliver eggs, pancakes and sausage.  I say, “You guys eat yet?”  Why am I getting maternal?

 

“Yeah,” Amadi says, “We both had smoothies—real fruit and protein smoothies—at the restaurant.”  He pauses and looks over at Mr. Fitch, who looks nervous. “Some new men came into the restaurant this morning.  They were asking if Mr. Altima had been around.  I said I hadn’t seen him.”

 

Bruce immediately gets up and goes over to Amadi and puts his big hands on Amadi’s muscled shoulders: “Good for you!  That was the right thing to do: you said the truth.”  Then he looks at Steve: “Did you get questions too?”

 

“Yeah; and I’m scared.”  Steve looks at me and says, “I know you said you’d protect us, but you’re not around all the time.  Amadi says he’ll stay with me and we can get another couple of guys to go around to places together.”

 

Bruce is now holding Steve’s shoulders and looking into the beautiful blonde’s blue eyes: “That’s exactly what you guys should do: go around in groups of four.  Any more and you’ll look like a gang.  But a group of two pairs of serving boys—no one will suspect anything.  And tell all your friends do the same thing.”  Bruce looks a me, grabs a pancake to go and says, “I’m going to Harbor Police right now—you should stay with the boys.  Just hang around the restaurant; order coffee or something.  And try not to spoil your beautiful new shirt!”  He gives me a peck on my cheek—I love smelling his after shave—and takes off, his new red shirt blowing away from his fine, strong body.

 

“My man—off to fight crime.”  I look at Steve and Amadi and say, “Pull up a chair, Steve, and Amadi, sit where Bruce was.  No use in letting good food go to waste!”  The boys sit down and chow down.  They’re teenage boys—always hungry.

 

“So,” I say, “let’s go over your day and how I can help.”  Steve says that he and Amadi are signed up to work the next two hours at the restaurant.  “Then I’ll get a newspaper and order a coffee and park myself in the restaurant.”

 

Amadi then says, “And then we have some free time before lunch.”  He looks at Steve: “Maybe we should go to the cave?  Strength in numbers?”  Steve nods.

 

“Then I’ll go with you—and any of your friends.  I can always use a workout.”  I pause.  “I’ll walk between groups—and you don’t talk with me—don’t even look at me.  I’m just some tourist walking around.  Maybe I’ll buy a straw hat in the gift shop.”  

 

“Careful you don’t look any better than you already do,” Amadi smiles, “or Carlos will jump you in the street!”  And finally Steve smiles.  I reach over and put my hand on his beautiful tanned arm: “Steve,” I say, “I’m stronger and faster than you know;  I will protect you—that’s why Bruce said I should stay with you guys.”  He nods, but I wonder if he’s telling himself not to be afraid.

 

I wonder if Amadi has had to face trouble before—he’s clearly aware but not afraid.  On the other hand, I doubt if Steve has faced anything harsher than a golfer who played a bad game.  I wish I could tuck him under my arm—where is this mother hen stuff coming from?  But I say to him, “Steve, I’m willing to bet that Amadi has had to deal with danger before—am I right?”  Amadi nods.  “And you maybe have faced an irate golfer.”  Steve smiles and nods.  “So stick close to Amadi—let him help you—is that OK with you, Amadi?”  “Sure,” he says, then he smiles: “I can’t let anyone mess with my blond beauty!”  Steve smiles—and maybe I’ve just discovered that there’s something between Mr. Black Muscles and Mr. Blond Beauty.

 

“So, I say, “You guys trundle the breakfast dishes back and I’ll wait a minute or two and then stroll down to the gift shop and buy a straw hat and a newspaper.  And park myself in the restaurant.”  I smile and add: “And I expect someone will keep my coffee cup full!”  Another smile from Steve—good!

 

 

20

So I buy a straw hat and a newspaper and park myself in the restaurant for awhile.  Steve keeps my coffee cup full.  When the servers’ door opens and closes, I can see Amadi talking with different servers.  I suspect that Steve is not the only scared beautiful boy working the restaurant.  But when Steve refills my cup for the third time, I notice he’s less scared.  I say something from behind the newspaper I hold in front of my face: 

 

“Are you guys getting organized?”  Steve bends down, asks if I’d like a scone or something—I say yes, and then he says, “Amadi’s getting groups of guys organized.”  I answer with  “You feeling a little better?” and he whispers, ‘Yes.”

 

I have noticed some new men walking around—looking out of place in shorts and crisp new Hawaiian shirts.  I guess it’s the fedora one guy has on—not exactly island wear.  They’re a group of six—pretty big group for guys on vacation.  One of them looks Japanese; he has some muscle; one is a skinny black guy; two look to be skinny ex-cons—yes, they have a look—and two are chubby and very out of place in shorts, showing very white skin.  I’m already figuring how to fight all of them.  

 

Surprise!  Bruce shows up at my table.  When Steve brings me a scone, Bruce orders some coffee.  “So, how did it go, talking with Commander Tawake?”  Steve is hanging around a bit too long.  I motion for him to go.

 

“I told Tawake about the new guys on the island.  He’s already got them under surveillance—don’t look!”  But I’ve already looked.  I see an islander who kinda looks like he’s on vacation at a nearby table.  

 

“Our new friends,” I say, “have been patronizing the gift shop.”

 

“Good to know!  Now, I need this more than you do!”  And he reaches for my scone—and wolfs it down in three bites.  “Good scone!”  Then he whispers, “So, what’s the plan?”

 

“Groups of four boys—I’ll be between them—going to the cave for a workout until lunch time when they have to come back here.  I guess I’ll come back and have lunch here.”

 

“No reason why I can’t go with you—I could use a workout—and we can have lunch together.”  He smiles.  I smile back.  I want to go to the cave right now, strip off his clothes and fuck him.  But he asks for the Sports section of the paper and the moment is gone.

 

We stay in the restaurant until we see Amadi and Steve, Carlos and Olaf leaving.  Then Bruce and I get up and go over to the cashier—Bruce puts the coffees and scone on his American Express card.  Then we stroll out the front door.

 

It’s not hard to follow the boys—and it’s not hard to notice two more groups of four boys behind us.  And we’re all going the same direction.  I guess it’s toward the cave.  But I also notice that we’re being watched—the guy in the fedora.

 

We walk through the town, then down toward the water, then take a left and soon we’re waking into a leafy passageway.  It’s not hard to hear someone on the rings and the sound of weights being put on iron bars.  It’s the cave.

 

 

21

Bruce and I are met by a big guy with a hairy chest.  “You’re Clark!” he says to me.  “I’m Henri.  We’re hunting eggs this afternoon.”  Henri is older than most of the boys—he’s probably in his last year here; I guess he’s one of the older guys Thor told me about.  

 

“Good to meet you, Henri.  This is my friend Bruce.”  They shake hands.  “I think we may have a problem.”  I look back and see the bad guys beginning to enter the leafy passageway.  “Some bad guys are looking for Kobe and Danny—a couple of servers.  Have you seen them?”

 

“Yeah—they’re over in the gym.”   

 

“Thanks,” I say, and I grab Amadi and we head toward the gym.  I tell him: “Find Kobe and Danny—and take them into the jungle. Then come back here and let’s lift.”  I take off my hat and my pretty blue shirt.  Bruce is already out of his red shirt and headed to the rings.

 

Amadi and Steve run over to Kobe and Danny.  Kobe’s on the rings; Amadi calls him and he gets down.  Danny is lifting weights; Steve is talking to him.  Soon all four boys are headed into the jungle—and can’t be seen.

 

Meanwhile, Henri is talking with the bad guys.  I look over at Bruce; he comes off the rings and I join him.

 

Henri is saying, “I haven’t seen either boy today.”  Bruce joins Henri.  “Are you boys looking at our gym?  We have a very good gym.  I and my buddy here are personal trainers.  A lot of the resort staff come by and work out.  Can I show you around?”

 

“Get lost, muscle man, and take your pretty boy with you.”  It’s fedora guy.  Bruce doesn’t back down—and I’m right with him.  He says, “Who are you guys looking for?”

 

Henri answers, “Kobe and Danny.”

 

Bruce says, “Haven’t seen them today.”  He turns to me: “Have you?”  “Nope.“  Henri leaves—I hope to call the cops.

 

Now the big, muscular guy steps up, right into Bruce’s face: “Like friend said, get lost—take faggot boy with you!”  I look disgusted, but Bruce restrains me—it’s an act; we’ve done this several times before.

 

Bruce again doesn’t back down.  Instead, he’s reasonable: “I think you boys have gotten some bad information.  Kobe and Danny aren’t here—you want to look in the gym?  I’m sure they’re not here.”

 

Muscle guy rams into Bruce and pushes him aside.  He’s going to look in the gym.  Bruce and I stay with him. However, I also notice that the six guys are now four—two skinny ex-cons seem to have faded into the cave.

 

While Bruce shows muscle guy, fedora guy and their buddies the gym, I notice the cops have arrived.  They come right over to us.

 

“Mr. Wayne, are these boys troubling you?”

 

“Yes, officer.  They’re looking for some boys who simply are not here.  And yet they keep looking.”

 

Muscle guy and fedora guy know when to fold: “We’re just leaving, officer,” and they turn and walk out.  But only four leave—when six came in.  I whisper this to Bruce; he whispers back that I should start an x-ray search.  So I go over to a climbing rope and climb, all the while looking toward the jungle.  I hang at the top of the rope for awhile.  A couple boys yell at me to come down.  But I’ve spotted two pairs: two guys sitting in one place—deep in the jungle, probably Kobe and Danny—and two more walking through the jungle, going one way and then another—our missing bad guys.  I tell Bruce, and tell him to tell Amadi and Steve.  I head into the jungle.  But I know Bruce will probably follow.  The man can’t keep away from danger.

 

 

22

I keep well away from the bad guys, but I keep an eye on them.  I’m heading for Kobe and Danny, and I use a little speed to get there.  They’re hiding behind a boulder near the wall at the outside of the jungle.  I say, “I’m a friend of Amadi and Steve.”  

 

Kobe, a Japanese kid, says, “You’re Clark!  I saw you give your cock to the snake!”  “Yeah that’s me.  Now, you two need to stay close to me.  Some bad guys are hunting you—and they’ve got guns.  I don’t care what you did.  I just want you to get out of here alive!”

 

Danny says, “We had to do it!”  And I repeat, “I don’t care.  I’m here to get you out alive.”  By this time, Bruce shows up.  I say, “This is my friend Bruce.  He’s here to help you too.”

 

Bruce says, “Where are our bad guys?”  I look over to where I last saw them—but I have to look awhile.  I hope Kobe and Danny aren’t picking up on the fact that I’m looking at dense jungle as if I can see through it.  At last, I spot them; I get close to Bruce and say, “They’re about fifty yards to my right.  How ‘bout you take the boys to my left and I’ll wait for our bad guys.”  Bruce nods and says, “Come with me, fellas,” and he leads Kobe and Danny back into the jungle.  

 

Meanwhile, I pick up a couple of small boulders and start juggling them.  The bad guys are headed right toward me.  I’m jugging boulders when the bad guys nearly bump into me.  “Hi, guys!  You looking for something?”

 

“You’re weird,” one of them says, sneering. 

 

“Yep, I sure am,” I say.  “But I’m here juggling boulders and you’re watching me!  So maybe you’re weird too!”

 

One of the bad guys tries to go around me—I block him, still juggling boulders.  Then the other guy tries to get around me on my other side—and I block him there.  I haven’t broken a sweat—and I wonder if the bad guys have noticed.  I wonder when one of them will simply want to shoot me.

 

That would be now: he fires at me.  But the bullet bounces off the boulder.  Then the other guy shoots at me—and the same thing happens.  I decide to hold the boulders in front of me in case they both shoot me at once—which they do.   Then I toss the boulders at the bad guys and they fall down.  

 

“Ooh, I’m sorry,” I say.  “I must have dropped my boulders on you!”   The two bad guys struggle to get up.  I didn’t throw the boulders hard—they sort of just landed on them.  But I know the gunshots mean Bruce will show up soon—and he does.  

 

But I’ve made a big mistake:  I haven’t taken the guns from the bad guys.  And while one of them is writhing in pain with what is probably a broken arm, the other stepped out of the way of the boulder and he just fell to the ground.  He aims his gun and fires.

 

Bruce dives in front of me—and gets hit.  He falls in front of me.  As he falls, I cradle his head and shoulder:  “Bruce!”  The bullet is in his shoulder.  He has his hand over it.  

 

I look up at the bad guy that shot him.  He takes off.  No time for feelings.  But Amadi and Steve have arrived.  And so have Carlos and Olaf.  I say, “Amadi, take that guy’s gun away and watch him.  Steve, take my place.  Carlos, run back to Henri and have him call the cops—again.”  And as he runs off I yell, “And have him call an ambulance!”  I turn to Olaf:  “Look back in the jungle and bring Kobe and Danny here—they need to tell Bruce their story.”  I point to where I think Kobe and Danny are.  Olaf runs off.  

 

But of course Bruce thinks I’m making too much of his wound.  He turns to Steve: “You don’t have to be so careful—I’m not bad off!”

 

I turn to Amadi and Steve: “He’s going to try to get up and do something—that’s just who he is!”  I point to both boys:  “Promise me you will keep him on the ground until a stretcher arrives to take him to a hospital.  Promise!”  The boys nod.

 

Before I chase after the bad guy, I turn to Bruce: ‘You’ve been shot!  You stay there!”  And I run off.

 

I can see the bad guy running through the jungle.  I look for a way to nab him so he doesn’t shoot me and see the bullet bounce off my chest.  So I run wide around him and come up behind him.  I pick him up and snatch the gun out of his hand.  “I’m going to take you to the police,” I say, and I start toting the guy back through the jungle—he’s dangling from my left hand while I hold his gun in my right.

 

By the time I get back I see Steve is loving every minute holding Bruce’s head.  But Bruce is more focused on Kobe and Danny.  He’s having the boys tell their story:

 

“I’ve been selling dope at my college, so I thought I could sell some here.”  Danny looks very contrite.

 

“And my dad buys guns and sells them in Asia, so the same guys who threatened Danny also threatened me.”  I get the impression that Kobe is the brains in this duo—Danny’s just a kid who sells dope.  

 

“So,” Bruce says, “Why poison Altima?”

 

Danny looks at Kobe, who says, “Because a guy in Altima’s gang wanted him dead so he could take over.  And I guess now he wants us dead so he can cover up his plan.”

 

Bruce says, “Who is this guy?”

 

Danny says, “I only know him as Mr. Brown.”

 

Kobe adds: “That’s the name I know, too.”

 

Two policemen and a stretcher have arrived.  I collect the gun from Amadi and give the two guns to one officer.  He tells us that we have to come “downtown” to make statements.  Bruce tells the other officer that Kobe and Danny poisoned Altima on orders from a Mr. Brown.  He asks that the boys not be handcuffed.  “I won’t if they come along nicely.”  Kobe and Danny nod.

 

Two fit island orderlies load Bruce onto a stretcher and start wheeling him out of the jungle.  On our way out, I stop by the gym and find our shirts lying right where we put them.  Amadi and Steve go with the police officer—I ask if I can go with Bruce to the hospital—“But you’re coming downtown as soon as you can, right?”  Of course I am.

 

Before I get into the ambulance, I remind Carlos and Olaf to tell their restaurant managers what happened—and why Amadi and Steve are at the police station and can’t make work.  They nod and start walking toward the restaurant.

 

Am I really going to steal snake eggs this afternoon?

 

 

23

Bruce was right; the wound wasn’t bad.  The bullet out, he gets patched up and his arm is put in a sling.  I help him put his pretty red shirt back on.  We walk out of the hospital together and the few blocks over to the police station.

 

There, we find out that the two captured bad guys don’t want to spend the rest of their lives in prison—they’re cooperating.  “Mr. Brown” is actually Mr. Inagawa, a low member of the Japanese Yakusa.  I immediately wonder how much trouble Kobe is in.  Of course he and Danny will be in jail for a while.  They’re cooperating, but they’ll still do some time.  

 

Bruce and I walk back to the restaurant with Amadi and Steve.  I ask the boys if they can take clothes or books or things to Kobe and Danny.  They both nod; Amadi says, “And if we can’t, we’ll ask Carlos.”

 

For about half a block Steve’s arm is over Amadi’s muscular shoulders, and Amadi is smiling at Steve.  But I can’t resist; I say to Steve, “Did you have a good time, holding Bruce’s head?”  But I do it with a smile.  He blushes.

 

“Yeah, I did.”

 

Bruce says, “He’s a good head-holder!”  And he smiles.  And then he reaches over and puts a kiss on Steve’s cheek.  More blushing from Mr. Blond Beauty.  Amadi and I laugh.  

 

Back in the restaurant, Amadi and Steve find out they have to do double duty—they have to deliver Kobe and Danny’s orders as well as their own.  So they immediately leave with a couple of trays.  But Carlos and Olaf are waiting tables, so Carlos finds Bruce and me.

 

“Are you alright?” he says to Bruce.

 

“Yeah; it’s a clean wound.  And they gave me some drugs!”  He holds up a small bottle of pills.  “But it looks like I’m not fucking anyone tonight!”

 

“Poor baby!”  I say.  ‘I’ll just have to go down on you with extra care!”  And I kiss him on his cheek.  He kisses me back and says, “Extra care—I like that!”

 

Carlos says, “You guys!  I could stand here and listen to you two hunks all day—but I’ve got to take an order!”

 

So Bruce orders an island-special mahi-mahi and I order the same.  After all, he’s paying!  But we both order iced teas immediately.

 

While we drink our tea, I ask Bruce if he thinks the yakuza guys will be back.  He says, “I think jail is the best place for Kobe and Danny—for protection.”  He pauses.  “But, as I recall, the Yakuza like to silence anyone who knows too much—so I wouldn’t be surprised if Amadi and Steve, and you and me—if we’re all targets.”

 

“Should we tell Steve?  He’s going to get scared again.”

 

Bruce thinks and says, “Yeah, even if he gets scared, I think Amadi will stay close to him.”  He pauses and then smiles, “Maybe we should invite them to stay with us!”

 

“Beach party!”  And I laugh, thinking of Frankie and Annette.  Bruce chuckles.  But soon Amadi and Steve are running their trays back to the restaurant.  After they deliver the trays, they come out to see us.

 

“Those guys!”  Steve says, breathless.  Amadi takes over: “They’re after us.  We saw them watching us as we started bringing the trays back—so we ran.  Is there anything you can do for us?”  Bruce hops up and says, “I’ll call the police.  But right now, you and Steve tell Carlos we’ll take our lunch orders “to go”—and make them double—I guess you guys haven’t eaten, right?”  Steve and Amadi nod.  

 

“OK,” Bruce says.  “I’ll settle up.  Clark, you take the boys down to our place right now.  I’ll get Carlos or Olaf to trundle our orders down to our hut.”

 

So, now I know I’m definitely not stealing snake eggs this afternoon.

 

 

24

 

I tell Steve and Amadi to run on ahead—I’ll catch up.  I’m looking around as I walk quickly down the pier.  I wonder if the bad guys can identify me by my pretty blue shirt.  But then, I know they’ve seen me without my shirt, so I guess it doesn’t matter.  I’m already thinking of putting the boys in my bedroom and simply facing the bad guys’ guns, letting them fire their bullets at my chest and then hitting them on their heads and calling the police.  After getting hit on their heads, would anyone believe them about bouncing bullets?

 

Once at the hut, I tell the boys about my plan to face the bad guys while they’re in my bedroom.  I say, “Besides, you already know the beds are pretty good—no reason why you can’t make use of them!”  This gets a smile from Amadi, but Steve—not so much.

 

But almost as soon as the boys go into my bedroom, Carlos and Olaf are at the door with lunch.  And Bruce is walking not far behind.  Steve and Amadi come out to see Carlos and Olaf.  They talk about the bad guys seeing them.  I know Steve and Amadi were on the next pier over, so I look that way.

 

I can see four guys in a hut pretty much directly opposite ours.  I wonder if a pre-emptive strike would be an option.  Carlos and Olaf put food on our table.  Amadi and Steve dive in.  I’m waiting for Bruce.

 

Bruce comes in.  I go over to him and whisper that the bad guys are in a hut across from ours; I ask him about a pre-emptive strike.  Bruce shakes his head but says it’s good to know where the bad guys are. 

 

Bruce and I sit down and take a couple bites of fish.  Then Bruce looks at the four boys: “You guys need to leave; it’s not safe here.”

 

Carlos says, “No!  I’d rather be with you guys.  I trust you.  I think you’ll do everything to keep us safe.”  Amadi nods in agreement; Olaf doesn’t look as sure, and Steve just looks scared.  So Bruce says, “I see three options: 1) We stay and fight; 2) We call the cops and get protection—and delay the fight; 3) We swim to the cave and hide there.”

 

I say, “Why not a combination?  Call the cops and tell them where the bad guys are and that we expect them to attack our hut because Amadi and Steve are here.  The cops could ask Carl and Jane to move out for the day and camp out in their hut.  Meanwhile, we can swim to the cave and wait until the police collar the yakuza gang.”

 

Bruce nods; he likes the plan.  The boys also nod—they’ll have to swim to the cave, but they can do that naked, or—Carlos wants to borrow one of my speedos.  Of course he does!  So I take the boys to my room and throw my four extra speedos on the bed.  The boys choose without much arguing. 

 

Meanwhile, Bruce calls Captain Lal and tells him about the bad guys, where they are and what we think they’re planning.  Neither of us is eating much—too much to do.  

 

But then I hear a boat engine rev.  I look over to the next pier and see the bad guys getting into a boat.  I whisper to Bruce: “They’re coming.  Can you swim?”  I turn to Amadi, who is now wearing my bright yellow speedo—“Hey!  It looks good on you!  But can you help Bruce swim?”  Amadi nods.  In fact, all the guys look good in my speedos—Carlos, wearing the blue one, is smiling so big!  But Bruce says, “I’m not going—I’m staying with you.”  Then to all the boys he says, “They’re coming now—no time to wait: all you guys dive off the pier and swim to the cave—now!”  The boys are scared but they do as they’re told.  They all dive off our pier and start swimming toward the cave.  “Dive deep!” I yell after them and they take the hint.

 

I turn to Bruce: “Are you trying to get shot again?”  I’m a little pissed.  “No,” he says,  “I think they’ll shoot up the place.  I’ll hide behind the fridge door.  You go outside and sneak around the side of the hut.  Once they finish firing, you take them out.”  I nod—a simple plan is best.  I pick up my pretty blue shirt and put it in my bedroom.

 

Bruce is behind the fridge door.  I sneak out the other side of the hut and around to the end of the hut.  The boat’s engine has been silent for a while—they’re coasting toward us.  Then I hear a faint “thud” as the boat hits the ladder.  I hear quiet footsteps on the ladder.  Then all hell breaks loose.  

 

They open fire on our hut.  The bullets soak the place; a few bounce back off studs and window sills, but the machine guns rattle and spew their bullets for a couple minutes.  Then the torrent subsides—my turn.

 

I leap from my side of the hut and run at the bad guys.  I hold my left arm stiff and knock down two of them; then I hit the third so he falls off the pier into the lagoon; I take his gun as he falls.  The fourth guy is their muscle guy.  By the time I get to him, he’s got a pistol out and fires at me a couple times.  One bullet bounces off my chest; he’s surprised, so I rip the pistol out of his hand and pick him up and hold him above my head.  I toss him up in the air and catch him as he falls down.  Then I knock him in the head and toss him in the lagoon.

 

Bruce knows what I’ve been doing.  He’s at the shattered French doors, smiling.  “You couldn’t just knock him out—you had to lift him up and show off!”  But I’m so glad that he doesn’t seem to be hurt; I hug and kiss him and ask, “Are you OK?”

 

“Yeah, I am, but I think he shot your swimsuit.”  He points to my dorky blue swimsuit.  There’s a hole in one side of it.  “Fine!” I say, “Makes the shootout more believable!”

 

Sirens have been sounding for a couple minutes.  Then we hear running footsteps on the pier.  And now I see the wisdom in Bruce staying with me—he’ll handle the cops.  Of course they heard gunshots.  I imagine Carl and Jane may have called them, or they were on their way because Bruce had called them.  In any event, Bruce narrates what happened: he hid behind the fridge door; I went outside and waited until the bullets stopped flying; then I jumped on the gang members and knocked them out or threw them in the lagoon.  

 

I hand to the officer the gun that I took; other officers are on the pier, taking weapons and getting bad guys up or out of the lagoon.   The muscle guy keeps saying something in Japanese; I imagine it’s “The bullet bounced!”   But I say, “I hit his head pretty hard,” and the police officer smiles as he leads the very wet muscle guy out of our hut.

 

Of course we have to follow the police officer to the station to make our statements.   I put on my pretty blue shirt again.  As I go out our door, I glance over to the cave.  I see our four beautiful boys treading water and waving at me.  I smile and wave back; then I run down the pier, tap Bruce on his shoulder and point out the boys.  He smiles and waves too.

 

 

25

 

Bruce is so smooth in any police station.  He knows what they want and he gives it to them; I follow along, checking with Bruce now and again.  But soon we’re out of the police station.  And suddenly I’m very hungry.

 

“Can we have a real lunch now?” I ask plaintively.

 

“Sure,” Bruce says.  “But somehow I’ve lost my taste for fish.”

 

“Me too.”  I think, then I say, “This is gonna sound strange, but I’d like a open-faced roast beef sandwich!”

 

“That doesn’t sound strange at all!”  Then I realize Bruce still has his hurt shoulder.  “How’s your shoulder?”  We’re walking from the police station back to the restaurant.

 

“It’s more an annoyance than a pain.  I guess I should get more drugs, but I think some bourbon will do just as well.”

 

“Hey!” I say.  “We should get our stuff and check into the hotel!”  Then I think about it and say, “You go to the restaurant and order our lunch.  I’ll run down to the hut and throw our stuff in our suitcases and bring them up to the hotel.“

 

“See if any of the bourbon bottles are OK—bring whatever you can find.”  I give him a quick kiss and run—regular, human running—to our hut.

 

Of course, the place is a mess.  I imagine the resort will have to completely rebuild the hut.  I find our suitcases and throw our clothes into them—minus four of my speedos.  I also toss the boys’ tees and pants and sandals into my suitcase.  None of the bourbon bottles survived—but I suspect Bruce figured that.  Somehow, my new straw hat did!  So I put it on as I carry the suitcases out of our ruined hut and down the pier.  

 

I take them to the lobby.  Bruce joins me there.  He gets a room and Dion shows up to carry our suitcases up to our room.  Bruce also orders a bottle of Maker’s Mark to be delivered to the room.  Then we go back to the restaurant.  

 

Surprise!  Carlos is serving our food—and he’s in his own clothes.  I tell him I have all the boys’ clothes, and that we’re now staying in the hotel.  Of course he has all sorts of questions about the shootout—all the boys do.  So Bruce asks that they all come to our table and he’ll tell the story.  Carlos runs off to get the other guys.

 

They all look like little kids, hanging on every word Bruce says.  Carlos asks me how I took out the four bad guys.  I say, “A lot of it was simple surprise: I jumped out and hit two of them with my outstretched left arm; then I hit the third and took his gun while he fell into the lagoon, and I wrestled a bit with their muscle guy, but I took his gun and pushed him in the lagoon, too.”  Carlos actually says, “Whoa!” But all the guys look like they’re thinking it.  I think I’ve become a hero.

 

The roast beef sandwiches are great.  Bruce and I are famished and we’re eating way too fast.  After the boys leave, Bruce turns to me and says, “Aren’t you supposed to steal snake eggs this afternoon?”  

 

I say, “What time is it?”  He says its only 2:30—wasn’t I supposed to be there about three?  So I finish my sandwich, give Bruce a kiss on his cheek and take off for the cave.

 

Henri, Thor and two other guys are waiting for me.  One is a black wedge of muscle—he looks strong enough to defeat Superman!—named Adofo.  The other is Sun-Yi, smooth and Chinese and as tall as Thor, but not quite as muscular.  Both Adofo and Sun-Yi say they saw me feed the snake.  Adofo says, “You’ve got a real nice cock, man!”  And I thank him.

 

“So, what’s the protocol?”  Henri gives me a big burlap bag—I immediately flash on the long bags slaves used to use to pick cotton.  He says, “We’ll go for the big guy’s eggs first.  If he’s laid them, they’re big, and one egg per bag.  And you”—he puts his big mitt on my big shoulder—“as our newbie—you get to crawl in and get the eggs!”  He says this with a smile, but I’m thinking, “Of course!  That’s why Thor wanted me to come—if I didn’t he’d be low man on the totem pole.  Men and their hierarchies—the reason why world peace can never be achieved!”

 

But it is what it is.  I take off my straw hat and my pretty blue shirt and lay them down behind the welcome desk.  I ask, “Any advice for a newbie?” Adofo says, “Don’t get eaten!”  And everyone laughs—except me.  We all carry our big burlap sacks and head into the jungle.  

 

We go deep into the jungle—Henri first, then Adofo, Sun-Yi, Thor, and me last.  I follow along.  Finally, Henri stops and turns and puts his finger up to his lips.  Then he points ahead and motions for me to come to the front of the group.  When I get there, he points to the big snake which is draped on the boughs of two big trees.  And there, beneath the trees, are five big eggs.  Henri smiles and motions for me to go toward the eggs.

 

So I get down on the ground and start crawling toward the eggs.  It’s ironic: to steal snake eggs, I have to become a snake.  But I crawl quietly and get close to the eggs.  The snake hasn’t moved.  I lie on my side and put my right hand behind the first egg.  Because of the undergrowth, the other guys can’t see my arm.  I simply flick my hand and the egg rolls out to Henri; he scoops it up and puts it in his burlap bag; I do the same for Adofo, and he scoops up his egg and puts it in his bag.  Sun-Yi is next; I flick an egg toward him; last is Thor, and I flick an egg to him.  

 

Now it’s my turn to get an egg.  My bag is by my feet.  I have to decide: do I put the egg in the bag here, or push the egg along and crawl backwards so that I can put the egg in the bag?  I decide to put the egg in the bag here.  Bad decision.

 

I make some noise as I move the egg toward the bag and then open the bag and then push the egg into the bag.  And I wake up the snake.  I don’t know this until suddenly I can’t see anything.  Then I realize that my head is inside the snake’s mouth!  I can feel its teeth grinding on my neck and chin.

 

I leave the egg part-way in the bag and put my hands on the top and bottom of the snake’s mouth.  I pull the snake’s mouth apart—with some effort; the snake is big and strong.  Once my head is out of its mouth, I bop the snake’s head with my fist—just enough to stun it.  I crawl away and the snake comes after me.  My buddies have all moved well away from the snake and me.  I guess this is my battle.

 

I’m dragging the burlap bag with the egg in it when the snake starts to curl up my leg and then around my body.  And as soon as it’s around my body, it squeezes—hard.  It squeezes the air out of my lungs.  I toss my bag to Thor and turn around to deal with the snake.  It’s head is now up to my shoulder and it looks ready to bite.  So I hit its head with my fist.  The snake is stunned again, but it still keeps curling around my body.  I’m going to have to hit it harder.  

 

Then my buddies are there, pulling the snake’s coils away from me, giving me a chance to breathe.  I smile at them and say “Thanks!” and put both my hands around the snake’s head and start to squeeze.  I don’t want to kill it—but I want it off me!  I squeeze a bit harder, and a bit harder until finally the snake lets me go.  I let the head go: it falls to the ground, but the snake is not dead.  After a moment or two, it slithers away—and I join my buddies and we walk quickly away from the snake.  

 

We look back a couple of times to see if it’s following us.  But we keep moving.  When we get to the edge of the jungle, we finally relax.

 

Henri says, “You done good, Clark!”  And I get pats on my back from all the guys.  “I told you he’d do great!” says Thor.  I know I shouldn’t care.  I’m stronger than all these guys—yeah, even Adofo—but I love getting praise from big muscle guys.  I even blush a little.

 

 

26

 

Henri takes all the egg bags to the smoothie soda fountain.  I go to the welcome desk and retrieve my shirt and hat.  I look over and there are the beautiful boys!  

 

Carlos says, “Are these the eggs from the big snake—with Clark’s cum in them?”  Henri nods.  “Then someone make me a smoothie with one of them!”  And Olaf, Amadi, Steve, Dylan and Dion all say “Me too!” 

 

I smile and wonder for a moment if the boys will get enough of my cum to help change them.  I don’t have to wait long. It doesn’t take long to crack a big egg and scoop out a cup of the contents and mix it into a pineapple and egg smoothie.   Carlos waits for all the guys to get smoothies.  They toast each other and then toast me—and all four of them chug their smoothies down.

 

“Wow!” says Carlos, “that tasted great!  I want another one!”  All the guys do.  So the fountain kid —who is still drinking his own smoothie—quickly makes four more.  Carlos and the other guys toast each other and me and once again, chug their smoothies.  Now I’m interested to see if there’s any effect.

 

There is.  “Now I feel something,” Carlos says.  Amadi says. “Me too—like I’m bigger or something.”

“Guys,” says Steve, “do I have more muscle?”  and he flexes his bicep.  Amadi puts his hand around Steve’s bicep and says, “My blond beauty, you do have more muscle.”  The boys all look at me.

 

Bruce has walked in; he asks me how the egg stealing went.  But he also hears Amadi saying that Steve has more muscle.  And Bruce has a very quick brain.  He comes over to me and puts his arm around me as he says, “Guys, it’s been a long day—especially for Clark.  We’re going back to the hotel for a rest—and maybe other things!”  This makes Carlos and the other guys smile; I wave back to them and say, “Catch ya later!” and Bruce and I go.

 

Bruce and I are whispering all the way back to the hotel.  “Did they have smoothies with eggs from the big snake—the one that sucked you?”

 

“Yeah—and each boy had two.”  I pause.  “And Amadi says that Steve has more muscle.”  Bruce says, “But that’s not supposed to happen yet!”

 

“But my cum has never been mixed with snake blood and whatever else is inside the big snake!”  I’m trying to whisper, but I’m a bit scared—I feel like I’m losing control.  “What if the snake juices augment my cum?  What if the boys put two and two together?  What if they figure out who I am?”

 

Bruce thinks for awhile.  “We’re supposed to leave in two days.  And the police want us to stay in case they have more questions.”

 

“And Carlos probably already suspects who I am,” I say.  I feel a dark cloud hovering over me.  But Bruce gives me a hug as we enter the elevator up to our room.  “We’ll get through this,” he says.

 

We hug and kiss and go to Bruce’s bedroom; I slowly take off his pretty red shirt and his swimsuit, kiss his wonderful body and lay him on the bed.  I also take off my pretty blue shirt.  “Is this where I get extra care?” he says with a smile.  I smile back.  “You get all the care I can give—you were wonderful with the police, and I want to thank you for rescuing me from the boys!”  I start licking his big cock—slowly, deliberately.  I want him to dissolve in pleasure.

 

I smile because Bruce loves the way I suck his cock.  We don’t talk; I just make his cock feel like the center of our world—which is what it is.  When he finally shoots, I’m greedy for his cum.  I want him to be part of me—I need him to be part of me, to slow me down, to keep my feet on the ground.  

 

I lie on his bed with him; I’ve made sure to lie next to his good shoulder.  We kiss; we can’t roll around, but we’re lying side-by-side and it feels pretty good.  But then it all stops.

 

There’s a knock on the door.  I tell Bruce to lie still.  I go to the door.  It’s the boys.  “Oh!  I say, have you come for your clothes?  I have them in my room,” and I lead the boys into my room and open my suitcase and start pulling their clothes out, hoping they can find which pants and tees are theirs.

 

Carlos finds his, but clearly there its something on his mind.  While Olaf and Amadi are still figuring out whose pants are whose, Carlos comes up to me with a very serious look on his face.  Suddenly I feel very exposed.  

 

He says, “Clark, are you Superman?”  It’s as I feared.  I turn away and walk into the living room area.  Bruce rushes out from his room.  The other boys have followed Carlos out of my bedroom.

 

I’m sure Bruce knows exactly what I’m feeling.  He says to Carlos, “That’s a silly thing to say!  Whatever gave you that idea?”

 

I’m looking out the window—wishing I could fly off.  But I turn around and pull Bruce over to me, whispering, “I can’t lie to these boys!  I love them too much!”  Bruce whispers back, “Careful, Boy Scout!  Your love could get them and you in a lot of trouble!”  I say, “Can you do some mind—“  But Carlos erupts: “Then it’s true!  You are Superman!”  and he rushes to me and hugs me—and soon all four boys are hugging me.  And I love them all so I’m hugging them back.  

 

But Bruce says, “Stop!!” and he pulls each boy off me and throws him at the nearby couch and stuffed chair.  The boys look scared—Bruce can be very intimidating when he’s angry, and he’s angry: “You boys have to think very deeply about what you’ve said and what it means.”  He’s wagging his finger, but I don’t care.  “IF Clark is Superman, then your lives will be in danger—and he will have to protect you from anyone who wants to get to him.  IF he is Superman, then if you tell anyone—anyone at all—then you endanger that person’s life.”  He pauses and calms down a bit.  “It would be better if you forget that you ever thought—thought!—he was Superman!”

 

Meanwhile, I’m looking out the window, feeling like I’m my own rainy day;  I feel miserable.  I don’t want to lie to the boys, but I don’t want to tell them, either.

 

Suddenly I have two pairs of arms—Carlos and Steve—wrapped around me.  And the boys are softly crying—I can feel their tears on my skin.

 

“We love you, Clark!” Carlos says.  Then Steve says, “If saying you’re Superman hurts you so much, then we’ll never say it again!’  And soon Amadi and Olaf have added their bigger arms around me.  “That goes for me!” says Amadi,” and “Me too!” from Olaf.

 

Now I’m crying with the boys and kissing each of their heads.  I turn us all around.  Bruce is looking at us very suspiciously.  I say, “I love you guys,” and kiss each boy again.  But I go over to Bruce.  

 

I fold my love in my arms and say, “I love you—always.  I love you wanting to protect me and them.  You’ve always been there for me and I love you for it.  If something goes wrong, I know you’ll suffer too.”  I pause; then I take his head in my hands: “But I still believe in love!”

 

Now Bruce has tears falling down his cheeks.  He takes my head in his hands: “I know, Boy Scout.  It’s who you are and why I love you!’  And he kisses me deeply.

 

 

27

 

“OK!” I say.  “We’re not going to talk about that ever again—agreed?”  All four boys nod.  “But,” I say, glancing at Bruce who shakes his head a little, “I love you and want to give you a gift.”  The boys look confused.  “When you drank those smoothies, you got my cum mixed with whatever else was in the snake’s egg—and it looks like it augmented my cum.  Steve got more muscle—flex your bi, Steve; show off, Blond Beauty!”  Steve smiles and flexes—and Amadi smiles too.

 

“So, you guys will all get muscle if you suck my cock again—Olaf will get more muscle if he sucks me once—since he’s already had two shots of my cum.  The rest of you will have to suck me off twice.”  I pause.  Olaf is searching his brain for when he sucked me off—he remembers and his face brightens.  “But,” I say, “there are two things you need to know about this process: One, when you suck me off, you need to squeeze my balls so I don’t buck on my first shot and put a hole in your head.”  I turn to Bruce and say, “Tell them this is what you do!”  Bruce says, “He’s right—when I suck his cock I squeeze his balls just before he cums.”

 

“And the second thing is that once you have sucked my cum three times, you will change: you’ll fall into a sleep, have convulsions and your body will grow.”  Again I look at Bruce: “Bruce, tell them.”  “It happened to me—it’s how I got this body!”  And I swear Steve swoons a little.

 

“So, Olaf, when you suck me off again, you’ll fall asleep, convulse and grow—and you’ll wake up with more muscle.”  Then I go over to Olaf and say, “When you’re asleep, I or Bruce will stay with you and caress your back, telling your body that we’re with you.  You won’t go through this process alone.” I pause again.  “Still interested?  Do you want more muscle!”  “Hell, yeah!” he smiles, and I smile too.

 

I turn to the other guys: “The rest of you want more muscle?”  Three heads nod.  “Then let’s get this process started.  Bruce, can you please order steak dinners for six?”  Bruce shakes his head but then nods.

 

“Olaf, you’re up first.  Wanna suck me here or in my bedroom?”  He looks at Carlos and says, “Here is fine.”  So I find a comfortable chair and strip out of my dorky blue swimsuit.  I sit down and jerk my cock a couple times; then I gesture for Olaf to start sucking.

 

He’s a good sucker.  It seems to me, the more he sucks, the more he wants to believe in getting more muscle—and the boy has a good bit of muscle already.  When I get close to cumming, I say “Remember” and his hand cups my balls.  And he squeezes when I shoot.  He gets a good load.  He sits back, wipes some cum from his lips, smiles—and down he goes.

 

“Wow!” says Amadi,  “He fell right over!”  Olaf convulses a couple of times.  I’m down on the floor next to him, caressing his back.  Bruce comes over and starts caressing his back too.  The other boys are standing around, fascinated.

 

Steve asks, “Does it hurt?”

 

Bruce says, “I don’t remember a thing.  One minute I was swallowing Clark’s cum; then I was waking up and Clark was helping me stand up.”

 

Olaf starts to grow.  Carlos is now sitting beside him, caressing his back.  “Look!  His arms are getting bigger!”  “And his legs,” says Amadi.  

 

“By the way,” I say, “This will change you—and all you can say is that you worked out more and drank more pineapple and egg smoothies.  Got it?”

 

Carlos, Amadi and Steve nod.  I imagine that Olaf will go along with whatever the other guys say—especially Carlos.

 

“So, who/s next? Carlos?”  

 

Carlos says, “Are you ready to shoot already?”

 

“Pretty much,” I say.

 

“Clark carries a lot of cum,” Bruce says with a smile.  

 

“Well then, OK,” Carlos says and he comes over to me and starts licking my cock.  As he sucks, Olaf grows.  He was already a pretty big kid; now he’s really big—still lying on the floor, he looks like he’ll be about my height.

 

Carlos sucks well.  Soon I’m ready to cum.  I say, “Remember,” and he cups my balls.  He squeezes when I cum and he gets a good load.  He wipes his mouth and smiles.

 

“Next!” I say.  It’s Amadi.  With Steve hovering behind him.  Meanwhile, Carlos has gone back to sit near Olaf.

 

It takes Amadi a bit longer to get me to shoot.  It makes sense, I’m running low.  I wonder if I’ll have any for Steve.  But soon I’m saying “Remember” and he nods while licking, cups my balls, squeezes and he gets a good load.  

 

As he releases my cock, I say to Steve, “I’ll need a few minutes.”  “That’s OK,” he says.  

 

But Olaf has started to stir.  He pushes himself up on his bigger arms.  Bruce asks how he feels.  “Bigger,” he says, and he smiles.  Bruce helps him up.  The boy is now not a boy at all—he’s definitely as tall as me, maybe taller.  He’s a few inches shorter than Bruce.  He hugs Bruce and says “Thanks!”. Then he looks over at me and says, “Thanks so much!”  But I say, “You can only say you got these muscles from drinking pineapple and egg smoothies and working out—got it?”  Olaf’s a good kid; he nods enthusiastically.  But then he says, “I think I’m gonna need a new tee-shirt!”  His tee is stretched near failure.  He might as well be wearing cut-off sleeves, his arms are so big.  And the bottom of his tee barely covers his abs.  “But I think I can get a bigger one!”

 

Then he says, “Have you got anything to eat?” Bruce smiles and gets on the phone and orders some eggs and ham—and asks that it be delivered quickly.

 

I signal to Steve that he should start sucking.  He takes hold of my cock but pauses.  Then he says, “I don’t want to sound vain—“  “But you are,” I say with a smile.  “Look; if you’re worried about losing your good looks, once I fed my cum to a good-looking Greek boy.  After the third shot of my cum he looked like a Greek god—he was stunning.  So, if anything, you’ll look even more beautiful!”  Amadi says, “That’s what I want!”  Steve smiles and starts licking greedily.

 

Oaf is really hungry; he’s pacing.  He’s hitting a fist into his hand.  I’m afraid he’ll start hitting the boys—or Bruce.  I say, “If you really have to hit someone, hit me—but you might hurt your hand!”  Olaf smiles and comes over and hits my pec—and hurts his hand.  “Well, you warned me!”  and he laughs.

 

Soon the eggs and ham get there, and Bruce gets them from the kid at the door—a kid we don’t know.  But he tries to look in.  Bruce gives him a big tip and the kid looks down at it—while Bruce closes the door.  Of course, Olaf hoovers the food.  Then he relaxes a bit.  I say to Bruce, “You may need to get the steaks up here faster.”  He nods and makes a call.

 

Steve squeeze my balls and gets a good load too.  I take a few deep breaths and say, “Carlos?  Ready for your third shot?”  He says, “How can you have any more cum left?”  I say, “It make take me longer to shoot, but I think I’ll be able to do it.  And once you three get your third shots, I’ll get to eat and Bruce can tuck me into bed!”  

 

 

28

 

So Carlos starts licking my cock.  I fondle his hair.  I really do love this kid.  He’s always positive, even enthusiastic.  I guess it serves me right—him figuring out who I am.  I just hope his increased muscle can help protect him, in case someone figures out the connection between us.  He looks up at me as he’s licking—with love in his eyes.  And I send him love with my eyes.  When I start to cum, he’s already cupping my balls, so I don’t have to remind him.  He gets a good load, raises his head up and falls flat on his face.

 

Bruce drags him away.  Olaf is there to caress Carlos’ back along with Bruce.  I don’t think there’s anything between him and Carlos except friendship.  But more different guys have fallen in love.

 

Amadi looks at Steve before he goes down on me.  Steve says, “I love you” and Amadi says, “Back at ya, beauty!”  Amadi wants muscle—that’s always been clear.  He sucks my cock greedily.  I tussle his wiry hair and say “Suck my cum and get big and strong, my friend!”  Amadi smiles as he sucks.  He also has his hand on my balls.  When I shoot, he squeezes and gets a good load.  He lifts his head and falls on his face—and starts convulsing immediately.  Bruce drags him away and Steve is concerned.  “Is he going to be OK?”

 

“He’s convulsing more—probably because he already has good muscle.  Bruce convulsed several times too.”  And Bruce nods to Steve.

 

“And now, my Blond Beaty, your turn—drink my cum and become even more beautiful!”  Steve smiles and starts licking my cock.  It takes a while.  This will be my seventh shot this afternoon.  But Steve knows how to suck cock—Bruce and I agree he’s really good.  And soon I’m ready to pop.  I have to remind him to cup my balls, but he does, I shoot, and he swallows a good load.  He looks up, smiles—and hits the floor.

 

It’s been an assembly line, giving these wonderful boys my cum.  I’m very tired, but I get down and start caressing Steve’s back.  Olaf is caressing Carlos’ back and Bruce is caressing Amadi’s back.

 

Carlos is nearly all changed.  Something about his body reminds me—I look over at Bruce and say, “Look at Carlos—does he remind you of somebody?”  Bruce looks; then he gasps: “He looks like Dick!”  

 

I ask Olaf, “Does Carlos like to work out on the rings?”  Olaf says, “Yeah, he does!”  I smile and whisper to Bruce, “I wonder if we should introduce him to Dick?”

 

Olaf says, “You know I can hear you, don’t you?  Who’s Dick?”

 

Bruce says, “My ward—my adopted son.  Carlos’ body looks a lot like Dick’s.”

 

“Then,” Olaf says, “You gotta get those guys together!  Even if it means more competition for me!”  Aha!  He does like Carlos!

 

But Amadi is also changing.  I say, “Olaf, look at Amadi—he’s going to be at least as muscular as you!”  

 

“That’s OK,” Olaf says with a smile, “He was already a bit stronger than me.  Maybe we can at least get the same size shirts!”

 

Carlos wakes up, pushes himself up and looks at his bigger arms.  Then he looks over at Olaf, who says, “How ya doing’, buddy.”  Carlos says, “I feel pretty good!”  Olaf says, “Let me help you up!” 

 

When Carlos stands up, he’s as tall as Olaf and his physical resemblance to Dick is even clearer.  Bruce smiles.  Carlos notices: “Why are you smiling?”  Bruce says, “Because you remind me of my adopted son.  Olaf says you like to work out on the rings.  My son Dick is a whiz on the rings.”  Of course Carlos says, “So, when can I come stay with you and meet this whiz kid?”  Olaf looks a bit chagrined.

 

But Amadi stirs.  His arms are bigger, so he’s surprised when he pushes himself up quickly: “Whoa!”  Bruce helps him up.  The boy is as tall as Olaf—Bruce has them stand next to each other.  But Amadi has more muscle.  He’s all muscle—he looks like he could win a Junior Olympia title.  And his shirt is even more strained than Olaf’s.  Olaf punches Amadi and says, “Looks like we need to get new shirts!” and Amadi laughs.  

 

I turn to Bruce and say, “Please go get a couple of my tees from my suitcase.”  Bruce nods, goes to my bedroom and comes back with a tan and a blue one—he tosses the tan to Amadi and the blue to Olaf.  Both boys beam, strip out of their small tees and put on the new ones.  “Thanks, Clark!” they say in unison and then look at each other and laugh.  The tees fit them well—a little tight on Amadi, but only to show his incredible pecs and flat abs.

 

Amadi kneels back down to look at Steve.  He caresses Steve’s back with me.  Steve is growing—but not to the extent of Olaf or Amadi—not even to the extent of Carlos.  But from what I see of Steve’s face, as it’s turned toward me, he will indeed be more beautiful.  

 

He stirs; he raises himself up on his arms.  Amadi says, “How you doin’, beauty.”  Steve sits up, looks at Amadi and says, “I feel pretty good!”  Amadi says, “Damn!”  And kisses Steve so hard that they both fall back on the floor.

 

I laugh and say, “Do you guys need to take my room for awhile?”  But Amadi is too busy kissing Steve—and Steve is too busy kissing Amadi.

 

“Well,” says Carlos, “it looks like those two got what they wanted!”

 

 

29

 

There’s a knock on the door.  Bruce goes over and lets the server wheel in the tray with all the steaks.   The server looks around at all the muscle in the room; he says, “Is there a bodybuilding convention in town?”  We all laugh.  Bruce gives him a good tip and shows him out.

 

Bruce and Olaf put the dishes and drinks around the table—but there aren’t enough chairs for everybody.  Amadi and Steve are happy on the floor, so they take their dishes there.

 

I am famished, but I’m also a bit weak.  Bruce helps me up and helps me sit.  Carlos notices and says, “Are you going to be OK?”  I tussle his hair and say, “I will be after I get a bit of food in me.”

 

Everyone at the table is eating steak.  Amadi and Steve are eating—sort of.  They’re just as interested in looking at each other.  Young love!  Then something occurs to me: “Do any of you guys have to serve dinner?”

 

Carlos looks around: “I think Amadi and Steve are still protected by getting chased by the bad guys.  And Olaf and me aren’t on tonight.”

 

“Well, OK!” I say.  “You can stay here and fuck—which I guess. Is what Amadi and Steve are going to do—or you can go to the gym and work out.  Warning: you’re going to be very hungry for a couple of days.   Pineapple and egg smoothies will help.  But you’re also going to have to eat more real food.  And you will want to work out or wrestle or do some sort of physical activity—your new muscles will make you use them!”

 

But Carlos has this weird smile on his face, so I say, “And no, you can’t fuck me or wrestle me.  I need some rest.  And Bruce still has a bum shoulder.  So we’re the old guys—and you young muscle studs need to find other guys to wrestle with or play with.  OK?”

 

But both Olaf and Carlos now have weird smiles.  So I say “Try wrestling Thor.  You couldn’t take him before, but you probably can now.  Or go wrestle some snakes!”  Bruce is chuckling; he says, “No; they want to wrestle you!”

 

“But that’s not fair!” I say.  “I’m tired.  I just came seven times!  I need a rest!”

 

“But you’re also not as strong as you usually are,” Bruce says with a sly grin, “and I think the boys want to see if they can take you!”  He pauses and the grin gets bigger.  “Look,” he says, “you created these beautiful monsters!  Now you’re going to have to deal with them.”

 

Amadi and Steve have their arms around each other’s shoulders, but they’re all smiles, looking at me and Carlos and Olaf.

 

Suddenly, Carlos says to Olaf, “Let’s get him!”  And they’re on me—but they’re tickling me.  I fall on the floor and the boys are on top of me, tickling me mercilessly.  I can’t stop laughing.  I’m tired and don’t have enough energy to fight back, and they’re tickling me—my belly, my feet, under my arms—I find out that I’m ticklish in places I didn’t think could be ticklish!

 

“Please,” I say, laughing uncontrollably.  “Please—stop!”  

 

“Say you love us!”  Carlos says.  And that makes me focus: I sit up and say “Of course I love you!”  And I realize I’ve stopped laughing; the tickles don’t tickle.  But I give each of the boys a big fat kiss on his head.

 

Carlos looks at Olaf.  “I think we should go—I wanna work out on the rings.”  And Olaf says, “And I wanna lift.”  Then Carlos looks at Bruce and then me: “When are you guys leaving?”  Bruce says, “Day after tomorrow—early.”

 

“Then,” says Carlos, “we need to have a party or do something tomorrow.”  He turns to me, “You gonna be rested by then?”  Bruce and I are finishing up our steaks.

 

I smile and say, “If no one attacks me and tickles me again!”  Then I say to Bruce, “Would it be bad luck to hire a boat, go fishing and swimming and camp out on some beach?”

 

Bruce smiles and says, “Well, if these guys can guarantee that no one will poison our food, I think it’ll be OK.”

 

I turn to Carlos and Olaf, and then look over at Amadi and Steve: “Can you guys get off tomorrow?”   Four heads nod.  Amadi says, “I don’t think anyone is going to deny me a day off—and I’ll make sure all the other guys get the day off too!”

 

“Ooooh,” I say, “”Watch out for dangerous Muscle Amadi!”  But Steve just snuggles closer to Mr. Black Muscle.

 

“Then,” says Bruce, “Let’s meet tomorrow about noon at the marina.  I’ll rent a boat and fishing gear.  Bring your best speedos”—he smiles and looks at all the boys—“And we’ll boat and fish and swim and find a beach where we can grill some fish.  OK?”

 

“That sounds great!” says Carlos, and all the other boys smile and nod.  On his way out the door, Carlos stops, turns back, runs to me and gives me a big kiss.  I kiss him back and slap his butt:  “See you tomorrow!”

 

 

30

 

The boys all leave.  Amadi and Steve think about staying and fucking in my bedroom, but Steve wants to go to his room for more privacy.  That means Bruce and I finally have some time to ourselves.  His shoulder is better, but I insist he lie on his back on his bed and I’ll do a flying fuck—hovering over his rigid cock and letting my hole fall on it, and rising and falling, rising and falling.  He no longer looks amazed, but I think he still likes it.

 

And then we get to cuddle together all night.  

 

The next day we order fruit and muesli for breakfast and take showers.  Bruce says his shoulder feels a lot better, but when I look at it I’m not so sure.  Still, I expect he’ll want to go swimming.  We gather a few things and buy some wine—the boys are to bring bread and fruit—and go down to the marina.  Bruce rents a boat big enough for us and the boys.  

 

Of course, the boys oooh and aahhh as they come on board.  I gather that Carlos comes from a well-to-do family in Mexico City, and Steve comes from some money—not sure where, but Amadi and Olaf are middle class kids and they’ve never been on board what they consider a yacht.

 

Bruce pulls the boat away from the marina.  He’s talked with the harbor master about good fishing spots and heads toward one due south of the island, about a mile away.

 

But he doesn’t get there.  The boys are all itching to swim.  They’re wearing my speedos and flexing and strutting around the deck, begging Bruce to slow down so they can swim.  I’ve looked ahead and found a small coral reef about halfway to the fishing spot.  And I’ve found some snorkeling gear on the boat.  Poor Bruce.  His fishing spot will have to wait.  Just for fun, I fix a lure to the fishing line, drop it in the water and tell Bruce to mind it.  He says it will be impossible to catch anything with the boys splashing through the water.  But I kiss him and say, “Try, anyway, OK?”

 

Steve explains to Olaf and Amadi how snorkeling gear works.  All the boys jump into the water and Carlos and Steve help Amadi and Olaf with the snorkeling gear.  I dive in.

 

The water is clear, the sights are wonderful: schools of various fish, sunlight streaming into the water showing the colors of the coral.  There are some sharks nearby.  I swim over to them and bop a couple on their noses—and they swim away.  

 

The boys have fun exploring the coral, going all the way down to the sand, catching starfish and trying to throw them at each other.  I have another kind of fun in mind.

 

I bop a big tuna on its nose and take it over to the fishing line dangling from the boat.  I fix the hook in the tuna’s mouth and give the fishing line a little jerk.  The tuna starts to rise up to the surface.  I can’t decide whether to surface and admit to my prank, or to let Bruce think he really caught a tuna.  I opt for the latter.

 

But after a short while, the boys want to surface.  We’re all around the boat and Bruce says, “Look what I caught!” and he holds up the tuna.  But I guess I smile too big.  I’m still in the water as the boys climb back onto the boat.  Bruce looks at me and laughs: “Of course you did!  Well, it’s here now, so we might as well eat it!”  I climb out of the water onto the deck and give him a big kiss.  “Thanks for taking it so well, big guy!”

 

We head to a beautiful beach.  Bruce drops the anchor and we all jump down into the shallow water and ferry things to the beach: the wine, the bread, the fruit and I get to carry the tuna.

 

On the beach Olaf and I construct a fireplace out of stone.  He’s pretty good: he’s studying engineering at Minnesota.  Bruce and the other boys collect firewood.  Once collected and placed in the fireplace, Bruce tries to start a fire with flint and stone.  I help it along with a zap.  Carlos sees me, smiles, but says nothing.

 

While the tuna cooks, the boys explore the beach and play toss with small boulders.  I’m reminded of some Greek boys who did the same thing—I guess young studs just have to toss their rocks!  Bruce and I enjoy watching the boys.  I ask if he’s missing Dick, and of course he is.  We talk about bringing Carlos to Gotham to meet Dick.  We motion for Carlos to come over and work out the plans with him.

 

We have a good tine: the tuna tastes great.  The boys have fun.  Bruce feels better—and goes swimming with the boys and me in the waters off shore.  We splash each other; the boys have races, swimming between Bruce and me—It’s a good way to end our vacation.

 

That evening, Bruce captains the boat back to the marina.  We hug and kiss all the boys—and we all cry a bit.  Bruce lingers on his kiss to Steve.  I linger on my kiss to Carlos.  

 

The next day we’re packed and dressed and on our way to the airport.  Then we fly over the blue South Pacific toward Honolulu.  The bigger airport is a shock—so many people!  And we sit in separate sections on the plane back to the Metropolis/Gotham area.

 

I stay with Bruce, going back to Wayne Manor.  Dick greets us both with kisses, but it’s clear he really missed Bruce.  Bruce gets an update on crime in Gotham.  Bruce hires a taxi to take me to my apartment in Metropolis.  We kiss deep and long just before I leave.  It’s been a fine vacation.

 

We keep in touch with the boys, one way or another.  Olaf goes back to UM, studying engineering.  But he also enters a Junior Mr. Minnesota bodybuilding contest and wins!  He texts me a couple of times a week.  On the anniversary of his gaining more muscle, Bruce sends him a steak dinner.  And then, a few months later I get a text with “I met this girl…” and Bruce and I smile.  It looks like we’ll need to buy a wedding present!

 

Amadi and Steve settle in Philadelphia; Steve grew up a mainline kid.  Amadi keeps working out, sculpting his muscles; he enters one bodybuilding contest, another, then another—and wins them all.  Eventually, he goes pro.  Meanwhile, Steve goes to law school at Penn and becomes a public interest lawyer.  He gets a reputation for winning against corporations; it seems that juries love him: women swoon over him and men like him too.  But he always goes home to Amadi.  They buy a swank brownstone near Rittenhouse Square.  They invite Bruce and me down, or they come up to see Bruce and me once every couple of months.  And it’s always good to see Black Muscle and Blond Beauty.

 

Carlos comes to Wayne Manor and as soon as he and Dick look at each other—well, it’s electric!  They’re soon in each other’s arms.  Bruce just shakes his head and says, “It had to happen sooner or later!  I’m just glad it’s Carlos.”  Within an hour of their meeting, the boys are on the rings in Bruce’s gym.  And they’re glorious to watch.  Soon, Bruce gives Carlos his own room in the Manor.  And within a week, Dick and Bruce are talking about Carlos becoming another Robin—or something.  Bruce isn’t sure; Dick is.  I mediate.  Dick wants to leave Robin behind.  He’ll soon be Nightwing.  He has a new costume—and he has a duplicate made for Carlos: the two have nearly the same physical measurements.  Of course by now, Carlos knows full well that I’m Superman and Bruce is Batman.  It’s remarkable, how seamlessly Carlos and Dick work together.   Sometimes Dick goes on jobs with Bruce—and Carlos comes along.  I can’t help hovering far above, looking down to make sure Carlos is OK.  But he always is.  And Dick is always there, if Carlos gets into real danger.

 

I’m still “mild-mannered Clark Kent” on The Daily Planet.  I get involved in small and big projects during the week.  On weekends I fly over to Bruce.  Friday nights are extra special.  Bruce and Alfred put together a big spread; I fly in.  I get kisses from Bruce and Dick and Carlos—long kisses from Carlos.  And we settle into a big meal.  Sometimes we go someplace over the weekend: skiing in the winter, the beach in the summer.  Bruce tells Commissioner Gordon that he can’t be reached—and usually Gordon cooperates.  We’ve had a couple of emergencies to deal with.  But then, we all go and deal with the problem quickly—and get back to swimming or skiing.

 

Bruce and I love watching Dick and Carlos swimming in the water off Coopers Beach, or surfing off Montauk.  I think we both feel like fathers—I’m sure I do, and I think Bruce does, though he doesn’t freely admit it.  But I see it in his eyes, when the boys come out of the water and splash us as we lie on the sand.   Sometimes I grab them both and fly them into the water—which is probably why they splash us! 

 

But we make a good family, and that’s what I like most. 

 

 

The End

 

 

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