They both stood beside the Jeep now, the vehicle shielding them from being seen by anyone on the road—not that anyone had driven by since they’d arrived.
Gnarly scrub oaks, probably planted during the Depression to slow dust storms, lined the rutted drive. The red prairie soil was baked hard, spiderwebbed with cracks. These were the dog days of summer, the hottest days of the year. Even now at dusk it was 86 degrees.
William gazed up into Matt’s eyes. “Hookup 101,” he said, standing on his tiptoes to kiss Matt on the lips.
Matt returned the kiss. He caressed William’s face.
“Let me see you in your jock strap,” William whispered.
Matt was happy to oblige. He broke free and shed his shoes, kicking them aside. The bare earth radiated heat into his ankle socks. He was unbuckling his belt when he felt William’s restraining hand on his arm.
“Slow down, dahling,” William said. “The best sex is 50% performance art. Think about your role here. What can you do that will heighten my desire and make me impatient for more?”
Matt paused. He had never thought of sex in this way. He remembered William’s instructions from a week ago: No shower. No deodorant. Jockstrap. He had puzzled about that over the last week, trying to understand the connection. Suddenly the answer was obvious: this was about sweat—the smell and maybe even taste of it.
This was about raw, animal masculinity.
He could do that.
He locked eyes with William and slowly wriggled out of his damp t-shirt.
When it was off, he balled it up and dabbed his chest and nipples dry.
William smiled appreciatively.
Matt closed the distance between them. He raised the shirt to William’s face, gestured for him to sniff it.
William grinned. He buried his face in the shirt, inhaling deeply.
Matt dropped the shirt, scooped William off his feet, and carried him fireman style to the rear of the Jeep. He set William down on the bumper.
Matt felt empowered. He raised his left arm, exposing his pit, offering it to William’s lips.
William licked the hair, then nuzzled the pit itself, moaning.
Eventually, William was sated. “Kiss me,” he whispered.
“Not yet.” Matt raised his right arm.
William bathed that pit with his spit.
“Kiss me now,” William said. “Taste yourself.”
Matt did as instructed. Their mixed saliva had a new salty tang to it.
Matt’s cock ached. He desperately wanted to grind against William, but remembered both William’s previous admonition against rutting and that evening’s advice about sex being a performance art. He focused instead on removing William’s shirt.
This was the first time Matt had seen any of William’s body besides his face, neck, forearms, and hands. Even with the Jeep’s rear storage area shrouded in shadows, William’s pale, milk-white skin glowed, like a waning moon on a cloudy night. He had no real musculature, no soft body fat. His skin was drawn taut over his frame. He had the small, almost flat nipplesof a young teen. Unlike a young teen, though, his chest had a small patch of the same shiny black hair that covered his head. The patch narrowed into a treasure trail that snaked down his abdomen and disappeared below the waistline of his jeans.
A small gold chain hung around William’s neck. Something shiny (a ring?) hung from the chain. William slid the shiny thing behind his neck, out of sight.
“You’re beautiful,” Matt said huskily. Instinctively he raised William’s left arm and lowered his mouth and nose into the neatly trimmed black clump.
“I’m a civilized girl,” William said. “I wouldn’t be caught dead without antiperspirant.”
Undeterred, Matt licked and teased the skin until he had rooted out some flavor. He repeated William’s line from a few minutes earlier. “Taste yourself.”
They resumed kissing, their tongues darting and exploring, saliva, salt, and sweat essence infusing and defusing. It was intoxicating and intimate.
