The summer I was 16 I spent only the third and fourth weeks of June with my Apache grandfather in the boonies of the White Mountains. That meant my intimate friend Sonny and I had just two weeks of intense time together (for more background, see "Sonny and I" posted on this blog). As described in "Sonny and I," the previous summer had led us to discover a mutual interest in procedures for releasing a certain pressurized fluid from the male body. We were downright horny to see each other again. Sonny told me he got an instant boner when he answered my knock and found me standing at his door.
As soon as I greeted Grandpa and got the battery into my junky pickup, Sonny and I immediately went to work sharpening our ejaculatory skills. The briefness of my visit constantly loomed over us and the time would be up far too soon. I would gladly have stayed there the entire summer, but my mother had talked me into something else (that's another story).
We had hardly driven a mile from Grandpa's until we could stand our erections no longer. Sonny was squeezing his crotch with both hands and telling me "Anywhere, anywhere!"
The rattling old truck nosed from a narrow logging road onto the twin ruts of a dirt lane that headed up a sharp incline. After a couple of bends we were completely out of anybody's sight. I shifted into Granny and we bumped off the lane and up a grassy peak where we could see the afternoon sun and a huge panorama of mountains.
As beautiful as the scenery was, we had no time for it. We'd been apart for ten or eleven months. Sonny slid across the seat and massaged my bulge. I reached for his. We said stupid things about missing each other. We were so horny that we could have both climaxed within ten or fifteen seconds, but we'd learned a year ago that slow and easy is the way to go.
"In the truck?" Sonny asked.
"Naw, let's get out."
We laid on our sides facing each other in the soft mountain grass, loving the warm sunshine. Our pants were soon buttoned down and our shirts went up so we could tickle and fondle every inch of sensitive flesh. I looked at Sonny's erect happy stick, did a double-take and looked again. "You've grown, man," I told him. "Bigger and better!"
Sonny propped himself on one elbow and wrapped his hand around my pole. "Ready?" he asked.
"Let me tickle those beautiful balls for a second. Ooh! Look at 'em shrink! Pulling up tight!"
By then Sonny was slowly pumping my erection which felt like it was as inflexible as a lead pipe. He had his left arm under my back, pulling me close to himself as we worked toward our goal.
For a few minutes we gently and slowly aroused each other. We were tenderly stroking one another's boners when Sonny stiffened and said "Cumming!" He rolled over on top of me, both of us ready to fire. "Cumming!" he said again, this time with urgency.
"Me too, me too," I gasped out, feeling my sensory system heading for an unprecedented blast, a blast that I'd looked forward to for months.
We huddled against one another as twin fountains spurted, mingling our combined sperm all over our chests and crotches while we held onto a pair of softening dicks.
Gradually we got our breath. "Great bones of the elders!" Sonny said. "It hasn't felt like that in a year."
Two weeks was frankly not enough time for Sonny and me to satisfy the needs of our aroused bodies. We hiked or drove all over the mountains and meadows, totally bonding with each other after the year of separation. Secluded in shady dells by day and sharing sleeping bags at night, we experimented with novel ways to enhance our erections and heighten our ejaculations.
On my last afternoon Sonny made a request. He wanted to go back to the hilltop where we'd reignited our bond. "Can the truck make it up there one more time?" he wanted to know.
We made it. Sonny sat looking at me. Finally he spoke. "I want to do something crazy," he said.
I waited for more.
"Let's get out."
Within a few seconds we were standing at the place where we'd cum all over each other a few days earlier, where we'd emptied our balls together for the first time in a year.
Sonny got a stick and dug a shallow hole in the dirt. "Will you shoot with me into the dirt? Into this hole?"
"Sure. But what...."
"Just do it, huh?"
We did it, assisting each other and depositing explosive ivory streams of semen into the black earth.
"Now tell me," I said.
"Very simple. When you leave, I'll come here to do my thing. Right on this little mound of dirt. Almost like doing it with you. Shoot in the same place, and it will be like..."
Sonny didn't finish. He was suddenly having trouble getting the words out, trouble putting a sentence together. He quit trying and just stared off into the mountainous distance. Then he tried again, every word an effort: "Like... you... were... here."
Sonny ran and got in the truck and wouldn't look at me. We both knew it wouldn't be like I was really there.
Next morning came. The two weeks were over. It was time for me to board a bus for Lordsburg NM, the first leg of my journey back to civilization. Grandpa brought me to the little cafe that doubled as a bus stop. I looked for Sonny. Looked all around. He was nowhere to be seen. No Sonny! He's not even here and we're pulling out!
I was mad, sad, and disappointed. I couldn't believe it. Sonny should have been at the bus stop to say... to say...
I tried to formulate the word in my mind while sitting in the back of the green BIA bus. I couldn't do it, just like Sonny couldn't say his words yesterday. Every time I came close to thinking "Goodbye," my eyes got all itchy and blurry. Not good for a teen dude. In the bus I was surrounded by overweight women, screaming kids and beer-breath men. My people. What if a tear ran down my cheek? Unthinkable.
After several hours on the bus, I halfway understood why Sonny hadn't been there. No matter how brave and macho the two of us would have attempted to be, "Goodbye" would have broken our hearts. "Goodbye" could even have gone beyond itchy eyes and could have messed up our masculine reserve, which any boy knows has to be avoided at all costs. So Sonny had just skipped the farewell. Still, I was mad that he hadn't even been in the crowd of people waving at the bus as it bumped away.
I worked up a good case of hurt feelings while the government bus ground its way up and down the mountains, stopping at village after village.
Maybe I would write Sonny a sad letter to make him feel bad for not giving me a final wave. But I didn't know his address, and anyway, I'd never written a letter.
Maybe I should refuse to go back to the White Mountains next year as a way of punishing him. But then I'd be punishing myself also.
Maybe (and I entertained multiple versions of this pitiful scenario) I should just die. The bus might have a wreck, slide down one of the cliffs near the copper mines. Lightning might hit us. Some drunk guy might highjack the driver and shoot me. I might get some crazy disease. That would fix Sonny.
Although those thoughts fed my dark mood, they were just too dramatic. Strangely, with the passing of hours and miles, the more grateful I became that Sonny had skipped the goodbye scene. We would have made fools of ourselves trying at all costs not to show affection on the outside, yet sobbing on the inside.
But that didn't relieve the emptiness in my heart nor the horniness of my primary organs.
I didn't want to hurt Sonny. I didn't want to make him feel bad. I didn't want to quit living. What I wanted was simple: I wanted Sonny. I wanted horny, erect, thoughtful Sonny, wanted him with me always. I wanted the two of us clinging to each other in a sleeping bag on a mountain night.
Thanks to my Mom's planning, it would be a full year before I would sit on this groaning old Tribal Transit bus again, making my annual pilgrimage to Grandpa, the White Mountains, and Sonny. A year! My entire body, soul and spirit ached with the pain of separation. I felt empty, drained, devoid of all motivation.
A year. An entire year. It was an unbearable concept. Why does life have to hurt so bad?
I was sixteen, feeling like hell, emotionally alone on a crowded bus full of noisy, yammering people. It was the first time that I really understood the loneliness of parting.
I've never been able to say "Goodbye" since then.
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