While Greg was sitting on my chest, his delicious looking meat started to noticeably harden and pulsate, and it was obvious that he wanted me to blow him. It'd been a while -- probably an eternity for him. "I know what you're thinking, bro, but it's a bit risky with mom and Andy around."
"Later, then." He stood and towered above me, one foot planted either side of my ribs. "But only if you wanna," he smiled.
Wanna? Jeez! I ran my eyes down his solid, defined, wet chest which was glistening in the sunlight, then to his flat sixpack that formed a sexy depression below his rib cage. Greg had the kinda color a regular white guy could never hope to achieve just by tanning. It was as though you could peel away his bronzed skin and find more bronze underneath. His fleshy, erect nipples were a darker color, like rich chocolate icing on a cake, and matched his large, mysterious, twinkling eyes with their long, curly black lashes.
"What are you gawking at Daniel? It's like you're seeing me for the first time."
"I was just wondering if people would call you colored."
"So what if they did? I know you like my color."
"It makes me think of those pictures you see of dudes in history books -- y'know, with weird wigs and stuff, and powdered faces to make them look whiter than ghosts. And those nude women that guys painted back then -- plump and pale."
"In my mom's country, they have a story about how it all happened. God baked the first two people in an oven. They came out white and underdone. The next two came out black and overdone. The third two came out just right -- golden brown."
"Boys!" mom yelled from the back door. "Get the barbecue ready. Lunch is on the way." Ten minutes later, the four of us were sitting around the timber table eating barbecued shrimps marinated in mom's special sauce, served with a tossed salad and fresh, crusty bread. Kyle sat patiently to one side waiting for the heads and tails as they became available.
"So, this Jimothy fellow," Andy said after taking a swig of chilled Riesling. "Does he perform professionally?"
"Well, kinda. He's got a couple of regular gigs, but I don't think he gets paid a whole bunch. It must be so cool, though, standing on a stage and having a whole stack of people watching you sing. Jimothy tells me that he likes to joke with his audience -- he loves to entertain."
"He might be a big star one day," mom commented.
"Do you think he'll still write me when he is?"
"Not likely, bro." Greg paused for a moment to retrieve a shrimp he'd accidentally dropped on his crotch.
"Make sure you pick the right one," I laughed. "What do you mean "not likely"?"
"Hey, try visiting one of those fan sites on the net -- like Hanson or Pearl Jam. You never get to meet the stars, only some fan club jerk."
"So why do people bother?"
"I guess they figure maybe they'll get lucky some day."
"Mom? Did you yell and scream 'cause you were a fan of somebody when you were… uh, a teen?"
"But not now, huh."
"Well, things are different when you're older. You become less idealistic and more realistic -- you realize that certain things are unachievable, like meeting your favorite heart throb, so you settle for things that are realistically achievable."
"Like Andy," I cracked, then got a clip over the ear from my step dad. "Hey! I was only joking. Anyway, what I wanna know is can a dude like Jimothy inspire that kinda hysteria?"
"You'll soon find out." Andy took another swig of Riesling before continuing. "People need heroes, whether it's a pop singer or a president. They're captivated by people they see as being larger than life. In my opinion, they're driven by the same innate desire that causes humans to create gods."
"But Jimothy isn't a god. God's don't lose their car keys in a club, or eat five creamsicles at once."
"When you meet Jimothy, you'll be face to face with another human being, and you'll see him as part of the human race -- perhaps a very likable part -- but nevertheless as human as you or I. It's when he steps onto a stage that he assumes a special, larger-than-life aura. And where does that aura come from? It comes from the audience. Collectively, they endow him with a quality that won't be apparent to you when you meet him face to face under normal circumstances."
"So, what you're saying is that 'cause I know him as a friend, I won't think he's all that special?"
"Oh, yes, you'll think he's special, but in a different way to the way his audience will see him. To them, he'll be mysterious -- a figure on a stage who's entertaining them and making them feel good. And a lot of it has to do with the fact that he's heavily outnumbered -- one guy being simultaneously admired and appreciated by hundreds if not thousands of people. That's how gods are created -- a single individual who rises above the norm. That's what attracts admiration, and even worship."
"I don't think it's right to worship people," Greg interrupted. "Nobody deserves to be worshipped."
"You're probably right, son. Perhaps they don't deserve to be, but, in many cases, they are. And the reason they are, is because most human beings have a desire to believe in something greater than themselves, and to attach themselves to the object of their worship, if you like, in order to give their lives meaning beyond the ordinary, day-to-day humdrum."
"Like some of the girls at school -- and guys, for that matter -- who sit in groups at lunch break and talk about Tay Hanson like their damn lives depended on it."
"To some extent, their lives do depend on it. They can sit in their rooms at home, listening to his music while fantasizing about meeting him, or they can share their dreams and hopes with their friends who also have similar aspirations. It gives them a common purpose or interest, and binds them. In other words, they're not isolated from their peers."
"And another thing," mom added, "people always want what they can't have. If that Tay Hansing…"
"Whatever… suddenly became available to all those girls, they'd lose interest in no time. For example, who's the most popular boy at school?"
"Me!" Greg and I chorused in unison, then cracked up big time.
"Well, whoever it is, it's your popularity that arouses curiosity amongst the girls. They wanna know what all the fuss is about. Eventually, that curiosity becomes infectious, and pretty soon there's a whole army of girls falling over themselves."
"Jeez, mom. It's not like that at all! Well, I guess some of them kinda go ballistic when I… well, y'know."
"When you what?" Greg asked.
"Anyway," Andy continued, "I don't see a problem with worship. I worship your mother -- not like a teeny bopper would worship a pop star -- but in a more mature way."
"You're blushing, mom."
"What I mean is," my step dad explained, "I have a great deal of admiration for Nancy. Sure, she's human and has her weaknesses…"
"Such as?" Mom cocked one eyebrow and glared at Andy.
"Such as your predilection for interrupting me," he smiled, then returned his attention to Greg and I. "But I worship her nevertheless. She's my life now, and I couldn't imagine life without her. Let me put it this way, no man is an island. It's impossible to get through life without the support of at least one other person. You've only got to gaze at your navel to figure that out."
"So what's the diff between love and worship?"
"Good question, Daniel, and I'm not sure I know the answer. Maybe the two are intertwined to some degree." At that moment, Kyle licked my hand. "Take your dog, for instance. He loves you -- that's clear. But he also worships you."
"Yeah, 'cause he figures he's gonna get another shrimp head."
"That's not as silly as it sounds," Andy laughed.
It was after dinner when Greg came into my room as I was finishing the last of my email. "I wrote Jimothy some of the stuff that we were talking about over lunch today. I hadn't realized that your dad was some kinda philosopher or whatever."
"He's been around." My bro stood behind me and massaged my shoulders as I clicked 'send'. "You in the mood now?"
"What we were talking about today… when I was standing over you on the lawn."
"You know that worship stuff your dad was talking about?"
"Well, I kinda felt like that when I was laying on my back on the lawn looking up at you." Greg continued to massage my shoulders, but remained silent. "You looked totally fucking awesome towering over me like that, with your cock and balls hanging in the breeze, and your long, shiny black hair draped over your shoulders."
"Yeah, I could see it in your eyes, but that's not worship, man, that's fucking lust!" As the word "lust" left his lips, he squeezed my shoulders.
"It was more than that -- but your dad's right. It's the audience who gives the performer the power. That's why you don't see yourself like I do. I'm the audience."
"I kinda do. I mean, I look at you and think what a wicked bod you've got -- not that I'm gay -- but I can see what it is about you that turns other people on. And I guess I can see what it is about me that turns you on. But that doesn't make me a god."
"Makes you a pretty good masseur, though," I grinned. "Jeez that feels nice. Anyway, you know that expression 'beauty is in the eye of the beholder'? Maybe it means that there's no such thing as beauty -- that it's only a perception."
"You're getting as bad as my old man."
"Think about it. My dog never looks at a sunset. He wouldn't have a fucking clue what it was. And if I came home from a car accident all twisted and ugly, he'd still lick me to death like I hadn't changed."
"So you're a god, and I'm gonna suck your goddamn balls dry."
"Now you're talking, dude."
I plumped two pillows at the head of the bed, then arranged myself on the mattress in a half sitting position while Greg knelt over my chest. "Jeez, I've been looking forward to this," he grinned. "You've got the world's most magic lips, bro."
"Rub your balls over my face first -- I wanna smell your horny scent." He did as I asked, and I drank in his erotic, spicy aroma. Damn, it smelt wicked, and sent thrills zapping all the way to my crotch. His nads felt kinda nice on my face, too -- like two soft, warm balls caressing my skin.
"I gotta fuck your face, Daniel. I can't wait, dammit!" And with that, he sent his solid rod between my lips and all the way to the back of my throat. As I reached up to fondle his firm, muscular pecs, he placed his hands around my head and proceeded to thrust his hips. This dude was in no mood for fucking romance!
After some minutes, his boner slammed the roof of my mouth as his fingers dug into my scalp. His back arched and sent his small patch of aromatic black pubes hard against my nose. The delicious taste of his boy juice filled my mouth with each of his mighty explosions, and each of his primal groans. Meantime, I was swallowing like crazy to force his sticky load past my tonsils.
When he'd done, he slumped forward slightly, but kept hold of my head as his throbber got lazy in my mouth. "Damn you, Daniel! You're just too fucking addictive!" He laughed for a few seconds, then ran his fingers lovingly through my blonde hair. "Woohoo! That was so damn cool, bro! The best!"
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Diary Part 106