Shoot the Moon

“I can’t believe it’s almost over,” Tony said, fondly
resting his chin on my shoulder.

“What’s almost over?”

“Our friendship,” said Tony.

“What do you mean? We’ll always be friends.”

“Oh yeah, I know that,” said Tony. “But it won’t be the
same. It’ll never be like it’s always been. Thinking about
it makes me sad.”

“Then don’t think about it,” I said caressing his long
slender neck. “Just concentrate on tonight. Worry about
tomorrow when it comes.”

We held each other tight, grinding the stiffness of our
cocks between our warm bellies. My mouth yearned to feel his
firm, moist lips pressed against mine. I gently kissed him
and felt his hot tongue invade my mouth.

The intimacy of our embrace was suddenly shattered by
the sound of rustling leaves and snapping branches. The
blinding glare of a lantern suddenly pierced the darkness.
It looked, and sounded, as if a derailed locomotive was
headed straight for us. Out of nowhere, like a charging
bull, Hardesty, shotgun in hand, stormed onto the bank. It
was too late to run. Too late to hide. He had already seen
us.

“Can’t you fucking read?” Hardesty bellowed, holding his
lantern up to one of the many “No Trespassing” signs.

“What an asshole,” Tony mumbled.

“You got something to say, boy?” shouted Hardesty,
sitting his lantern down on a tree stump so that it cast us
in a revealing ray of intense light

Tony and I looked at one another and shrugged. Hardesty
turned his head from side to side trying to see if he
recognized us.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “I’ve never seen the two of
you here before. Come on up here. Let me get a better look
at you.”

Tony and I waded hesitantly toward the bank, stopping
when the waterline reached our waists. “Could we have our
cloths?” I asked.

“What?” Hardesty blared, cocking his shotgun.

“Our cloths,” Tony said. “You’re standing on them.”

Hardesty looked down at his feet. “Well, I’ll be
damned. Sure you can have them back, when I’m good and ready
to give them to you.”

It became obvious that Hardesty intended to fuck with
us. We had no alternative but to go along with it. Slowly
we made our way out of the water onto the bank where we were
forced to endure the scrutiny of Hardesty’s shifty eyes.

“My oh my. You sure are a couple of pretty boys,”
Hardesty said. An evil sort of smirk came across his stern
face as he stared at our vulnerable young cocks. “You
wouldn’t happen to be the same boys my uncle wrote about in
his journal, would you?”

Tony and I looked at one another. Was this good or bad?
We knew nothing about Mr. Jorgenson keeping a journal.

“We knew your uncle,” Tony said, “but then, so did most
of the kids in town.”

“My uncle only wrote about two special boys. From his
description, I think he was talking about the two of you. He
said they were the most beautiful boys he’d ever seen. He
mentioned how they were real fond of each other, and liked
jacking-off together.”

I wasn’t about to admit it, but there was no doubt in my
mind that Tony and I were the boys the old man had written
about.

“What difference does it make if we are the same boys or
not?” I asked.

“It makes a whole lot of difference,” said Hardesty.
“My uncle said the boys didn’t mind letting him watch. I
never had much in common with my dear old uncle, God rest
his soul. But when it comes to watching two hot young studs
getting it on, I have to admit, I’m intrigued as hell.”

“I think you’ve got the wrong guys,” Tony said, Bending
down to reach for his pants.

Hardesty tapped him gently on the top of his head with
the barrel of his shotgun. “From what I saw going on out
there in the pond, I think I’ve got the right boys, all
right. What do you say you stand back over there with your
friend and take up where you left off?”

Fists clenched angrily at his side, Tony backed away.
“You,” Hardesty barked, glaring straight at me, “drop down on
your knees and put that pretty mouth of yours around your
buddy’s big dick.”