Free It Takes Two by Elliott Mackle Page A

got a lot to learn. And I could buy the beer this time. We could waste a whole case of Regal. Catch every dolphin in the fucking Gulf.” We did catch six or seven fish. The day was even hotter and when I suggested another swim to cool off, Bud agreed with a quick nod. After we anchored, he followed my lead when I started pulling off my clothes. When he dropped his shorts, his cock popped up just like the first time, hard as oak.
    He tried to shield himself with his hands. “Can’t help it,” he said. “Don’t know what’s got into me.”
    He stepped to the gunwale of the boat, ready to jump in.
    The sight of him, all of him—not just the muscled frame, snappy crew cut and eager cock, but those badly mended wounds of his—was getting to me. A familiar, icy electricity danced dangerously around my midsection, and a little lower.
    Though my pulse was pumping lightly, Mr. Slugger stayed remarkably calm. So this time I felt safe enough to venture a joke I hoped would also be taken as a compliment.
    “Some men need wine, women and song to get revved up,” I called. “Looks like fishing does a pretty good job for you.”
    Turning, he looked me up and down. “Let’s get in the water, Coach,” he said. “Come on, OK?”
    I followed him in and we swam away from the boat. Bud was a surprisingly strong, if ungraceful, swimmer. He took off fast and stayed out front. Stopping after perhaps a hundred yards, he turned, grinned, splashed me in the face, then dived under. Within seconds, I saw and then felt him dart between my legs, pushing my knees apart quickly but hardly touching me further as he passed. He turned, came up behind me and splashed me again.
    I went after him, getting an arm around his neck and quickly ducking him. As I pushed him under, he curled back on his shoulders, his knees rising, the water pasting his body hair to the tan skin above his beltline. From the milk-white skin below his waist, Bud’s phallus rose out of the water like a mast.
    He came up laughing and spitting water. Diving again, he got me around the waist and pulled us both down. I slipped out of his grip. As he lost his hold, his hand grazed Mr. Slugger, who was now definitely getting interested.
    What the hell , I thought. If this cop wants to play, he’s found his man . I dove deep, came up beneath Bud slowly and slid the tips of my fingers along the insides of his knees and thighs. When he clamped his legs shut on me and attempted to paddle backward with his arms, I stayed with him, coming up for a breath and then pulling myself on top of him.
    He gulped air. His grin turned scared and angry. I pushed him down again, then wrapped my arms around his chest and waist. Our two hard bats brushed. He shook his head. Then he pulled himself against me, tried to thrust once or twice, and turned away, gulping air.
    “Submarine attack,” I said.
    He let it pass.
    Reaching around, I touched him gently—the hair on his chest, his belly button, both nipples. His nipples, surrounded by curls, were hard as thimbles. My bat was lodged up behind him, feeling wonderfully uncomfortable. I reached down and tried to reposition it under his ass and between his legs.
    He elbowed me away, misinterpreting the shift. “You ain’t. Uh-uh, no. Let’s keep that area off-limits, Coach.”
    “Hey, Buddy,” I answered, reaching for him again. “Are you OK?” I touched him lower down, slipping the thin hood of his hard cock behind the groove and squeezing gently.
    Turning to face me, he put his forehead on my shoulder and began to play with me the same way, fumbling a little, maybe because I’m minus a foreskin and therefore built differently. It didn’t take long for him to learn the ropes. In a few seconds, my forehead was on his shoulder, and I said, “Yeah, Buddy, right there, right there, right there.” And we were pulling on each other slowly—and then faster, and then slowing down—and then sinking like harpooned seals because it got to feeling so