I love summer. The heat. The laziness of it. Well, ah, the younger version of myself loved it even more than I do now. No school until September, looking forward to going to summer camp somewhere along the line and daily moments of… boys being boys.
There was always something to do on those hot summer days, from hiking along the creek to scrounging up enough bottles to get the refund for them so we could go swimming which, come to think about it, never really gave much relief from the heat but it was better than sweating… almost… because summer meant there were plenty of days where sweating was the thing you wanted to do when boys were being boys.
I think about those summer days and how many times we’d get together – as a group or one-on-one to hang out and go through the whole list of things we could do for fun… or to get in trouble – and there was always that sense that we were just putting those things out there and paying lip service to them so we could do what we really wanted to do.
Have sex with each other. Summer was perfect for it since we’d all get tossed outside and pretty much left to our own devices and since we rarely left our neighborhood – unless we were going to the creek or swimming and that called for letting our parents know where we were going – we could vanish for hours, giving us more than enough time to do the things boys weren’t supposed to do to and with each other.
Then there were the days when there was just nothing else to do; too hot to be running around, no bottles to collect to go swimming and just being outside was… boring as anything could get… except, hmm, there was one thing that could be done and provided you could find someone who was just as bored as you were.
One of the things those summer days taught me was that when you leave guys to their own devices, there’s no telling what might happen or what gets thought about or even being in one of those “weird” moments where one or both guys just somehow know what they should do; now, whether it comes up or just goes unaddressed is something else but in the summer days of my youth? No question about what had to be done and the only thing standing in the way was waiting for someone to ask, “What do you wanna do?”
It was funny in that we’d go through this process even though we knew exactly what we wanted to do… even if there was, in fact, something else to be done. People chalk all of this up to experimentation but as I mentioned a while back, it was more like exploration. Not just exploring sex itself but exploring it in a way that was very taboo and forbidden. I’d even go as far to say that the first time a guy did this, that was the experiment and if he felt it was a success, then the exploration would begin in earnest.
And summertime provided many chances to explore. Going away to summer camp? Just a greater opportunity to explore as guys from all over the area came together to do summer camp stuff – and to get us out of our parents’ hair for a time – but even in this environment where there was always something to do, there were still those times when boys being boys was the thing to do… and because we could. We’d want to. Maybe to dispel the belief that we – and in our local group of male friends – weren’t the only ones deep into this kind of exploration. Always exciting and promising to hear some kid you just met ask The Question: Have you ever done it with another boy?
And, most of the time, if the answer was no, well, chances were very good that you were gonna find out what it was like to do it with another boy… and I stopped being surprised by the number of guys who hadn’t done it yet, were actually afraid to do it, but would be more than eager to do it anyway. Even that environment was ripe for exploration and more so since, at least at the camp I went to, the showers were just like those in school so there was always that exposure to naked male bodies and, yeah, guys looking while trying not to look; you could even tell the guys who were eager to do it from those who weren’t because the ones who didn’t would set world records for showering and hauling ass out of there… and the guys who did would, ah, take their own sweet time showering to both enjoy the view… and hope that maybe something would happen.
And sometimes it did; a lot of dicks got sucked in the shower and some asses would get fucked since, you know, soap is pretty slippery and all that. The risk of a counselor barging in and asking why we were taking so long to shower was always present but it was worth it and, honestly? I think the counselors knew and maybe even expected it and, just like at home, “allowed” it… as long as you didn’t get caught doing anything… and I can only remember maybe one or two times when some guys got caught and even then, instead of being shipped back home and ratted out to parents, they just got a stern lecture and warned to never do that again.
But they knew that, yeah, it was gonna happen again anyway.
You grow up and summertime takes on new meanings with fewer chances to explore and indulge in such sinful behavior… but it’s still a good time of the year for boys to be boys even when they become men. The days are hot… and our blood and lust runs hotter and there’s no denying it and more so if you were a guy who, when younger, loved the hot, summer days where dicks would get sucked and finished or wind up in someone’s backside to finish that way. Or just to sit side by side and jerk each other off and do some oohing and ahhing to see fresh, young sperm spitting into the air and creating sticky puddles wherever it landed.
Knowing it was naughty. Forbidden. Just so unspeakable in so many ways… but so much fun to partake in. Being very aware of the risk of getting caught in the act and pretty much not giving a damn about it. Maybe the guys who shied away from the exploration were missing out on something… important and even vital – and maybe, ah, maybe they were the smart ones not to get hooked on the forbidden pleasures to be found and had with another guy’s prick and the indescribable joy found in getting him to spill his seed in your mouth, ass, and sometimes both… while having the sure knowledge that you were gonna get to spill your own seed with him or, really, any guy who wanted to do it.
Some even say this is a sort of rite of passage and despite the forbidden nature of it and that it prepares us for sex and intimacy with women – well, at least the basics of it. And while this could and would be a year-round endeavor, summertime was… perfect for it and at least where I lived and among the guys I hung out with, we couldn’t wait for school to let out for the summer so that the “real lessons” could begin.
Hot. Sultry. The unrelenting heat… and I’m not talking about just the weather. Sometimes intense and stormy and that, too, described the weather and season. Spending time indoors with a fellow member of the secret society while it rained cats and dogs? A lot more fun than one might think because one got very good at sound like having some harmless fun… while having a very different kind of fun. Lightning would flash; thunder would roar… and not all of it was due to the weather.
How could one not love summer when it finally arrived? The freedom from the tedium of going to school and being free to explore things since, again, most of the time? We were left to our own devices, commanded and demanded to get out of the house and do something – and something other than getting into trouble and as boys are wont to do. Just a thing that if you were gonna get into some kind of trouble, er, ah, there was always that one thing that could be done that was worth getting into trouble over…
If you got caught doing it. Oh, it happened but for the most part? Not so much and even then I had wondered why more of us didn’t get busted and punished for our wickedness… and I thought that those in charge of us probably did know what we were doing when out of their sight… and sometimes right under their noses. They knew… because it’s always been a boys being boys kind of thing and, I guess, it was easier to just let it happen, to let it run its course, than to keep it from happening since, at least for the horny motherfuckers I grew up with, telling us not to do this was the same as telling us to go ahead and do it.
Just. Don’t. Get. Caught.
I think of Sly and The Family Stone’s song, “Summertime” and the part of the lyrics that says, “Hot fun in the summertime…” and, yeah, buddy, we had lots of hot fun in the summertime because, um, there wasn’t really anything better to do when you and your pal were left to your own devices on those hot, steamy, summer days…