Greg walked backward along Route 1A, facing the summer sun and the oncoming traffic. His friend, who he had met at the Northeastern Association of Gay and Lesbian Youth, or NAGLY, lived in Newburyport. He could just imagine the questions he would have to try to answer if he asked anyone to drive him so far to see a friend. Next year he would have a driver’s license. Maybe he could borrow a car, he thought, knowing that he probably couldn’t.

It wasn’t for sex that he was traveling such a distance. True, they had fooled around together a couple of times, but mostly they talked about growing up gay in a world designed by and for straights, that and guys they liked. Watching TV or leafing through magazines, they weighed the merits of the men they found.

Hearing the sound of a horn, he turned to see that a late model, shiny, blue pickup truck had stopped some fifty feet beyond him. The passenger side door was already open. A ride at last, Greg thought, as he began a jog in the direction of the vehicle.

A young man stepped out of the truck. He appeared to Gregory to be a fellow in his mid to late twenties, average height, sandy hair, an athletic type, someone who either worked out or worked outside. The driver, when he got a look at him, did not seem to be the other one’s brother, so the teenager supposed that they were buddies.

“Thanks,” Greg said as he climbed in. The young fellow followed and settled himself, resting his arm along the back of the seat behind Greg’s head. “I’m going to Newburyport,” he articulated when neither of them asked.

“What’s on there”’ the man on his right asked.

“I’m going to see a friend,” Greg acknowledged.

“We’re off to our cabin in the woods,” the driver offered.

“We built it ourselves,” the other fellow added, with obvious pride. “Just got it finished this spring.”

“Sounds nice,” Greg said, mainly to be polite, although it really did sound nice. Not the cabin so much, because he had no idea how good it really was. It was more the idea of two buddies building their own weekend place that sounded nice to the boy.

The two young men looked the way competent builders ought to look. Greg wondered if they were house builders as a trade. Maybe they built their cabin on weekends out of materials pinched from their weekday jobs. Or maybe that was just the voice of his father that Greg heard in his mind.

“It’s a log cabin,” the driver informed him. “But it has lots of glass doors and windows.”

“It’s kind of new looking right now, everything light brown, almost yellow,” the other chimed in. “But it’ll darken up in a few years. And we haven’t done too much landscaping yet.”

The driver inserted, “It’s been picked up though, no scrap strewn about. I want to get in some grass seed this weekend.”

Greg wondered it they were talking to him or to each other. He didn’t mind. It relieved him of the obligation of entertaining them. More often than not, the men who gave him a lift wanted conversation in return. The reason they offered a ride was that they wanted a bit of company. The youth’s mind drifted into a reverie of his own while the two friends continued their conversation.

*****

Chuck and Mo, short for Morris, had been together for over three years now. Almost from the beginning, they found that they liked the spice of an occasional third partner. And they had complete confidence in their ability to spot a gay male, even at a distance and from a moving truck. So when they saw Gregory, with his reddish brown bangs, cute in a lanky, coltish way, they looked at each other for confirmation, nodded agreement and Mo applied the brakes.

Greg came out of his trance barely in time to see that they were about to pass the intersection for the road he should take to get to his friend’s house.

“This is where I get off,” he announced.

“Skip that,” Chuck said. “Come along with us. It’ll be more fun.” At the same time, Chuck playfully ruffled the boy’s hair. The truck did not slow down.

“Yeah!” Mo enthused, as though the thought just occurred to him. He gave the kid’s knee a squeeze and continued, “That’s a great idea.”

“But my friend’s expecting me,” Greg stammered, trying to figure out what was happening and what he should do. Was he being kidnapped? What could he do anyway? Get angry?

“So, what is he going to do when you don’t show? Wait around? Did you have plans to do something specific?” Chuck asked.

In truth, the answer to the latter two questions was no. But how did they know that his friend was a he? Greg hadn’t said so. Or had he? He didn’t remember. But before he could formulate a plan, Mo interjected, “We’d really like you to spend the day with us.” And he smiled brightly and offered his hand to shake.

Greg took the hand, but didn’t say anything. They seemed friendly enough, not psychotic or anything. But it was really weird to be hauled off against his will by guys he didn’t know. Still, raising a ruckus could be either dangerous or ridiculous. He decided to do nothing and wait for a chance to slip away.

*****

Chuck and Mo tried to distract the kid by asking him a lot of questions about himself. They knew that they were on the right track, though, because a straight kid would have insisted, angrily, if necessary, on being let off. Then they would pretend it had all been a joke and pull over.

Gradually the kid loosened up a little. They managed to exchange names and find out that Greg was a high school junior and in the college preparatory track. He didn’t like school, but he did OK, and he didn’t go out for sports, but was in the theatre group. Everything added up so far.

It took another forty-five minutes to reach the entrance to the property belonging to the two young men. The roads had become progressively smaller and less well maintained. The current one ran through woods and had a noticeable hump in the middle to go along with it’s patched and unpatched potholes.

The pickup turned onto a gravel drive, stopping almost immediately before a chain link gate, flanked by a barbed wire fence that ran in both directions and carried no hunting, no fishing, no trespassing signs on its cedar posts. Chuck hopped out. As he did so, the driver’s arm took the place that the other man’s had occupied, right behind the boy’s head. Greg knew that he could be collared the instant he made a move to leave.

While he considered this option, the other passenger swiftly removed the padlock and swung the gate open. It was too late now, as the truck jumped forward through the opening. The youth heard, rather than saw, the gate being closed behind them; and knew, rather then heard, that the chain and padlock were being made fast.

Chuck resumed his position to Greg’s right before they continued up an incline, then a turn to the left and a curving path that gradually descended through a stand of pines so thick and tall that it became nearly as dark as evening, before emerging into a clearing edged by brush and young birch. Both doors opened at once. Mo said to the youth, “Help us with the stuff in the back,” as he stepped down to the bare ground.

Once at the tail gate, Chuck handed Greg a heavy cooler to carry. “You can bring in the beer,” he told the boy with an anticipatory smile.

The two friends, carrying bags from a grocery store, passed Greg as he struggled with the heavy cooler. The kid hauled his load up the three wooden steps to the covered porch that ran the length of the front of the cabin. The door was off centered, two windows to the left and one to the right.

Mo ushered the youngster into the large front room. The other young man was nowhere in sight. “Take that through to the kitchen,” Mo said, as he closed the door behind the lad. The boy spotted a round, oak pedestal table surrounded by chairs located beyond a wide opening at the back of the room. This suggested to him that the kitchen lay to the left of this dining area.

Indeed, it was. The ceiling, continuing it’s slope from the front room, was quite low at the back wall. He located Chuck there, standing in front of an open refrigerator.

“Open that up and put the beer on the bottom shelf,” he instructed, pleasantly.

More than six-packs were in the cooler. There were four bottles of white wine, packages of cold cuts, cheeses, bacon, eggs, shoulder lamb chops and a duck. The duck was just beginning to thaw out. It took a good ten minutes for the two of them to get that and the rest of the comestibles put away. Once accomplished, Chuck indicated that he had a few other chores, and sent Greg back to the front room.

As soon as the youth arrived in the sitting room, Mo said to him, “All finished. Good. Let’s get started.”

Greg looked at the young man, obviously not comprehending the intention of these words.

“Strip. Get naked. Shuck those clothes. Peel off,” the fellow advocated enthusiastically. There was no menace in his voice or on his face. Rather, his demeanor was one of joyful anticipation. Greg would have found Mo’s grin infectious under other circumstances. “We’re all gay, let’s play,” he concluded.

During the ride to the cabin, it had occurred to the youngster that the two friends might be interested in him sexually. As it happened, he did not posses that special ability to recognize those of his own kind. And the ads appearing for these two in the personals section of the gay newspaper would have to read, “straight acting, straight appearing.” On the other hand, he thought, why else would they be so adamant about his coming with them.

There was certainly no problem with their looks. True, neither was as breathtakingly handsome as the models in Internaional Male or any of the guys in the annual life guard calendar. On the other hand, if he were old enough to get into a gay bar and either one of them had asked him to dance, he would have been thrilled out of his mind.

“You’re going to be our bare ass boy today,” the young man announced.

These were real boys, and they actually wanted him, right here, right now. Why was he hesitating, for god’s sake? Because he had never been in a situation anything like this, with anyone so much more experienced than himself. They might want to actually do the things he had, thus far, only fantasized about. The dream had felt safe, reality was more than a little scary.

“Do you need help?” the fellow asked.

That broke the spell. “No,” Greg answered, and his hands went to the top button on his shirt.

*****

It was not a three-some in the technical sense of the word. Once the boy was nude, Mo, himself in his under ware, called out to his partner.

“Come out here and have a look at this gorgeous kid.”

Mo put his hands on Greg’s shoulders and slowly turned him around, for Chuck’s appreciation.

“Wonderful,” the other young man said, and gave the boy a playful slap on the butt. “You two go fool around. I have a little more to do in the kitchen.”

As Chuck departed, Mo took the lad in a firm embrace. Greg felt the strong arms around him and the strength of the man’s hands on his body. Mo kissed him on the cheek and whispered in his ear.

“Will this be your first time getting fucked?”

Greg almost swooned upon hearing this question. For some reason, his mouth was full of saliva. He swallowed before answering, a bit weakly, “Yes.”

“Then I’ll have to be very careful with you,” the young man said, gently.

For some reason this comment relieved Greg considerably. The expression of concern and thoughtfulness was reassuring. The youth had found that many of the people with whom he came into contact were prone to self interest, and little bothered about his feelings.

The young man led him through the door to the little bedroom. The apparent caring could have been pretense in order for the man to get his way without a fuss. Perhaps to some extent it was, but Mo did take the extra time necessary to minimize the discomfort of entry.

The experience was both more and less than Gregg had anticipated. It had hurt more at the beginning than he had thought it would, then not at all. He had expected to have an orgasm, but he didn’t. By the time he got comfortable with what was happening and began to pay attention to the feelings in his own body, it was nearly over. On the other hand, there were satisfactions unforeseen and the elation, outward signs of which he firmly suppressed, of finally having done it.

Held in the young man’s firm embrace, a strong right hand pumped him to his climax. Greg lay back against Mo’s body, his head resting on a bicep. His nudity, at that moment, seemed exactly right. He should be naked, maybe never to wear clothes again. In spite of his exhaustion, he wouldn’t mind being taken a second time.

But, if Chuck had taken him just then, right after Mo left, Greg would have minded. That Mo’s partner didn’t, had as much to do with a difference in temperament as with his knowledge that anal intercourse right after having ejaculated isn’t nearly as pleasant. It is one’s own arousal that makes the experience fulfilling.

Instead the naked young man quietly lay himself down beside the youngster, but propped up on one elbow. He touched the kid softly and spoke gently. “What nice fingers you have. Lovely feet. Do you like feet. I do. Some are sort of blocky, but yours have a fine shape to them. You really made Mo very happy. He’s practically floating. Your skin is so soft, I’m envious.”

The boy’s powers of recuperation being what they were, it was not all that long before there was sufficient sign of it for Chuck to notice. “Let’s try this,” he said, and he kissed the tip Greg’s dick. He took just the top into his mouth and probed the little opening with his tongue. “Try that on me,” he suggested and guided the lad into position.

Step by step, Chuck showed Greg how an expert performs fellatio and had him practice the same. The young man stretched it out as long as he could. Three times the boy’s testicles contracted tight to the body, and twice Chuck was able to back things down and begin again. The last time however, he noticed tremors that indicated to him that the kid was about to shoot no matter what. So he finished him off quickly by hand and then splashed the youth’s body with his own sperm.

Mo looked in a while later. The two fellows were asleep, the younger one curled up in the curve of the other. He smiled and left them to their repose.

*****

All too soon it was time to give Greg a ride home, however much they would have liked to keep him. At the end of his street, the boy gave each of them a quick kiss on the lips before hurrying off.

The physical law of inertia has its adolescent counterpart. A teenager at rest tends to stay at rest. Greg had the phone number of the two young men, but he did not call. He imagined one of them answering and saying, “not today, maybe sometime, call again,” in the matter of fact way that meant, get lost. Rather than risk the hurt, he did nothing, inertia.

He hadn’t given out his own number. What if his father answered the phone. He had enough explaining to do to his parents without anything else. Inertia.

Greg saw their truck once in a while. He could have found out where they were working and gone over. “Hi, just passing by. How are you.” He didn’t, more inertia.

Some years later, Greg ran into Chuck in a gay bar in Ipswich. He and Mo has split up, but were still friends. They had to sell the cabin because neither of them could afford it alone. Chuck and Greg had a one night stand. It wasn’t the same.