The way Jack got to know me some is that he took me to his cabin to see if any of his clothes would fit me and I got a splinter in my foot and whilst he was taking it out with tweezers he asked me if anybody had ever told me I was very good looking and ought to be in the movies. I was sitting on his bed at the time he asked, and he was kneeling on the floor in front of me and holding onto my foot, and both of us were still one hundred percent naked because after we had dried off at the hot tub I had just put my towel around my neck the way Jack had done which is the way I figured everybody did at a ranch resort like the X Bar L. Well, not everybody. Uncle Buddy cinched his towel around his waist before he went off with Luther to see did Luther have clothes that would fit him, Uncle Buddy, that is, the one with the modest streak.

I don't have much of a modest streak myself, so when I told Jack that nobody had ever mentioned me and the movies in the same breath, I was being truthful. Jack, though, acted real surprised and said that if the Project didn't already have a Twink on the payroll, I would be perfect for the part as long as I had passed my 18th birthday which I had almost two years before. Jack wanted to know, too, was I a good kisser and, still being truthful, I said nobody had ever complained which was true because except for my momma I hadn't never kissed nobody. Which is when Jack asked me would I mind showing him how I kissed and I said I wouldn't mind and he reached up to behind my head and pulled my face down to where his was and we kissed.

Well, that was something to make the day one I could send off to the Guinness record folks. First the elk, then the eating in hot water with everybody being one hundred percent naked and now a fellow sticking his tongue into my mouth whilst one of his hands went up the inside of my leg and him and me still one hundred per cent naked. I guess I shouldn't have been too surprised by the tongue and the hand, that is. It had been Jack who had been doing the rubbing up against in the hot tub, after all, and the staring at my floating parts so the kissing business was just a natural progress for him. And I had the natural reaction.

Like I said, I don't go from zero to sixty like Uncle Buddy does and when I get stiff and big it's just about adequate to the occasion. But Jack took a look at me getting that way and said I was not just good looking but good enough to eat which he'd like to do if I didn't mind. I told him that I certainly didn't mind because being one hundred percent naked and getting the way I was getting there wasn't no point in being anything but truthful. But if Jack was going to do to me what I figured he had in mind to do, I thought it was only polite to offer to do it to him too which I didn't mind either because, like I said, he was a well-set-up fellow with a real warm smile. So I offered and he said he didn't mind and he gave me a real warm smile when he said it, and we both got all the way onto the bed and arranged ourselves so we could be comfortable and useful at the same time.

I wasn't exactly green and out of it when it came to making a fellow feel good. I'd done it plenty with Uncle Buddy who had never complained and some with truck drivers who had helped me out when I hitched a ride and once with a fly fisherman from Columbus, Ohio who asked me to show him around some. Still, I learned from Jack that I had a whole lot to learn. About tongues, or I should say, his tongue. Since I'd had it in my mouth for the kissing test, I knew that it, Jack's tongue, that is, was wet and warm and long and good at moving around. But what it was turned out to be less of consequence than where it went and what it did when it got there.

I guess I have to admit it, being green and out of it, that is, because until Jack started moving his tongue around my special parts, I'd never had anything wet and warm on my nuts except the occasional washcloth. Now, there's no comparing a tongue and a washcloth on your nuts for what each can do toward getting you stiff and big. It's not like I went from zero to sixty whilst Jack's tongue was on patrol between my legs. When he raised one of my legs up over his head, though, and began to advance backwards is one way of describing it with his tongue pushing toward places of me I had never thought a tongue would care to go, I told Jack that I'd sooner he left that part of me alone for the time being and concentrated on the big and stiff part. What I said was "Cut that out unless you want your pretty hair full of my spunk."

It was a fair warning and it served its purpose. He turned his face up toward me which meant his tongue left off its advance backwards and he gave me his real warm smile and asked if I really thought his hair was pretty. Being truthful, I said I did. There was a lot of it and it was a chestnut color but it had little specks of a golden sort here and there and it was soft and wavy over his ears. He said that Luther did it for him and he was glad I liked it, his hair, that is, because some of the others had made fun of it for being sort of South Beach. I acted like I understood what he was saying and sympathized, and I did notice that the hair on his chest and down around his special parts didn't have no golden specks and was more a black than a chestnut color so I guessed that whatever Luther did had improved on nature.

Nature had given Jack some better than run-of-the-mill attractions down where his hair was more of a black than a chestnut color, but when I moved in close-up, I saw that his nuts, which were a nice size and distance down between his legs, were bald, his nuts, that is. That was one for the record books, too, I guess, being that all the other sets of nuts I'd had occasion to look at close-up had some amount of hair growing on them or out of them, whichever it is. Jack must have been watching me do my inspection because he told me not to worry, he shaved his nuts. Some of his friends, he said, liked them better without hair which can come off between your teeth or stick to your tongue and kind of cut down on the overall pleasure of a friendly blow-job was his thinking he said. So I asked if any hair had come off my nuts whilst his tongue had been on patrol, and he said No and besides he didn't mind if it did. It was just some of his friends was picky.

I wondered if I'd ever have friends I cared for enough to take a razor to my nuts, but I thought maybe I was doing too much talking and not enough of what I'd told Jack I wouldn't mind doing with his better than run-of-the-mill special parts. Uncle Buddy always likes me to have at least one hand on his butt to steady him when my mouth starts warming up his pecker so the first thing I did was put a hand between Jack's legs and part way up the middle of his backside which turned out to please Jack more than somewhat judging by the way he wiggled his bottom against my hand. Then I decided that if he could put his tongue where he had put it on me, I could do the same for him. What I did was slap his nuts around some with my tongue and squeeze them a little with my lips and even though I know I didn't have the expert touch that Jack did, I heard him moaning some whilst I slapped and squeezed and I guessed they was the moans of a happy man.

Uncle Buddy is the silent type, but I'd heard truckdrivers make noises like the ones Jack was making and I knew from the way some of them told me I was the best cock-sucking hitchhiker they'd ever had on their rig that noises like the ones Jack was making were signs of contentment and not of distress.

Still, if Jack's condition was anything like mine, big and stiff, that is, there was only so much contentment that a tongue on the nuts could provide, so I left off that activity and worked myself around to where I could get Jack into my mouth, Jack's cock, that is. It, Jack's cock, that is, might have been something of a challenge to someone who hadn't had the practice I'd had on Uncle Buddy for some six years. Like I said, Jack was well set-up and his attractions were better than run-of-the-mill and after what my tongue had been doing to his nuts, he was slick and eager and a regular eyeful. And mouthful.

Using the hand that wasn't halfway up his backside, I sort of steered him between my lips and almost but not quite to the back of my mouth. I thought I'd let him think he was nearly too much for me to handle because I'd noticed that some fellows whose attractions were definitely less than run-of-the-mill liked it a lot when I pretended to choke on them, their attractions, that is. I didn't pretend to choke on Jack but I took it slow and easy at the first sort of to get used to having him resting in my mouth and sort of to get him used to being there.

Jack returned the favor. He didn't pretend to choke neither and he took me in slow and easy at the first too and pretty soon from not having known our names, that is he not having known mine nor me his name, two hours before, we had gotten about as close to one another as two fellows can get. His nuts were on my chin and my nose was in his hair, the part of it that was more black than a chestnut color and his face was in a similar relationship to my nuts and hair that was a darker brown than the rest of my hair. And his finger was up my ass. Which really made it a banner day because that was a first, too, a first for me, that is. Not Uncle Buddy nor no truck driver nor the fly-fisherman had ever put a finger there though Uncle Buddy had regularly put another part of himself farther in than Jack's finger and one truck driver had sort of bounced me on his lap once to see could my asshole do for him what my mouth had is what he said.

But a strong, curious finger was a first for me and something I knew I'd remember right along with the elk and the one hundred per cent naked crowd in the hot tub and the kissing and the tongue patrol. There's a spot inside you that if it gets rubbed you get all warm and stiff and big, and big as he was, still is, Uncle Buddy would hit that spot more often than not when he had me on my back with my legs around him and his war club of a pecker going in and out of me. So I knew what was happening when Jack's finger suddenly put in an appearance on the same territory. The difference was that Uncle Buddy took a fairly direct and hard- hitting approach to my ass and Jack's finger was a lot more sneaky and delicate. Which only made it more exciting and got me as warm and as big and as stiff as I'd ever been until pretty quick I had to open up the valves and let go.

As soon as I did that, open up the valves and let go, that is, I opened up the back of my throat, too, and let Jack go in a lot farther and a lot deeper than he'd been getting so far and whether because of the surprise or the extra distance, that was enough for him to open his valves up and let go, too. He moaned some at that and pretty loud, too, and so did I, and we held on to each other tight the way they say drowning men do and along with all the other firsts of that day I felt like I had found a real close personal friend which was not a feeling I had had before with any of the truck-drivers or the fly-fisherman or even Uncle Buddy, who was, still is, my uncle which makes him special but not what I can call a real close personal friend.

After we'd finished moaning and holding each other tight, we went back to where we'd started which was kissing and Jack's tongue scurrying around in my mouth like a rain-soaked chipmunk hunting up a missing nut. In between scurrying, Jack said things I'd never heard before like that I was "out of sight" and "awesome" and "cute enough to take home for supper." He even asked me where I'd been all his life and when I said I'd been just up the road across the border in Montana for almost 20 years, he held me real tight and said that he'd been 29 years in the southern part of California and enough was enough why didn't him and me settle down now in the same part of the country because we couldn't go on meeting like this.

I honestly didn't know what to say to that. So I said I thought I should sleep on it and would he mind if I took 40 winks on his bed then because what with the elk and the walk and the hot tub and the kissing and all, I was suddenly feeling tired. And Jack said he was an inconsiderate fool and pulled me tight up against him and said we could sleep together which is what we did even though we were both one hundred percent naked and the air in the cabin was starting to get chilly because the sun was setting.

It was full dark when somebody, Luther probably because he was Best Boy and did a little bit of everything, banged on the cabin door and yelled that chow was ready and we should get our asses in gear or it, chow, that is, would be all gone before we got any. Jack asked me if I was hungry and, being truthful, I said I was on account of it had been a strenuous day. And besides, Jack said, "you're a growing boy" which I was on account of what his fingers were doing to the part of me that gets big and stiff when somebody's fingers get to rubbing up against it. Then he laughed and he kissed me, and I kissed him back and I set my fingers to moving around, too, but he said we ought to get dressed and he'd find some clothes for me because we weren't going to eat in the hot tub this time.

What he found for me to wear was what he called sweats that I thought had his name written on them top and bottom, but he said Versace was not his name and was pronounced vur-satchay, not veer- sayse, and he said he loved it that I didn't know about Versace who was dead anyway and didn't really deserve all the fuss people made over him alive or dead. More important was that the sweats which were just fancy warm-up pants and shirt in a color Jack said was oburjean was on the small side. Not for Jack, that is, but for me so that when I wriggled into the bottoms I had to leave the drawstring loose and even so they was so tight across my bottom and my front that it was a little like having some parts floating in the hot tub all over again. The top was snug too and it ended above where the bottom started so that my belly-button, which Jack said was too cute for words, was as much on show as if me and it were back at the hot tub where, as far as I knew, it, my belly- button, that is, hadn't caused much comment.

Jack gave me some slippers so I wouldn't get no more splinters and he pulled on a pair of jeans that was so tight on him I knew I couldn't never get into them and a sweater and shoes and then he kissed me again and what he said was it was time I met my competition. By which he meant the Twink, whose rightful name was Jason Button and who only ate things he said hadn't had a mother which meant that there was still some steaks left when Jack and me got to the X Bar L ranch resort's chow hall. All the fellows from the hot tub was there and Dick B. Long was making an effort to talk but since he picked Uncle Buddy to talk with, who is the silent type, like I said, he, Dick B., that is, wasn't getting all that far in the talk department. Uncle Buddy was wearing some chinos that was only a little snug across his bottom and his front and a really pretty soft sweater in a color Luther said was shartrooze. It, the sweater, that is, was not only fuzzy and soft but it had a kind of plunging neckline, which Luther said was called a veeneck, that meant you could see a good deal of Uncle Buddy's chest though not as much as at the hot tub where it, his chest, that is, hadn't caused no more comment than my belly button.

It was pretty clear that Luther had dressed Uncle Buddy in some of his clothes and, which was really nice, had finished the job of smoothing and unsnarling Uncle Buddy's hair which had been brushed too so much that it kind of shone. Luther probably hadn't had much time to do anything more with Uncle Buddy because, Jack said, Luther was the chief cook and bottle-washer in the big-time film crew. He had made the steaks and the baked potatos and the salad that all of us was eating except for the Twink who didn't eat no steak because it had had a mother.

The Twink sat at one end of the table and Dick B. Long sat at the other and now and then one of them would kind of glare at the other like Princess Leia in "Star Wars" the time Luke and Han Solo and Chewbacca the Wookie first came to rescue her on the Death Star. Whatever "creative differences" was I could see they was unpleasant and I felt sorry for Jack who I liked more and more partly I think because he showed that he liked me too. Once he'd cut up his steak, for instance, and had one hand free, he started to pat and smooth me down underneath the table and he whispered in my ear while he was doing it, patting and smoothing me underneath the table, that is, that I didn't ever have to worry about the Twink trying to eat me seeing as how I had a mother. "He'll never know what he missed," Jack said, and he laughed and I laughed too so hard that some of the beer I was drinking came out of my nose and Uncle Buddy gave me his own version of the pissed- off Princess Leia look.

Not that Uncle Buddy and me was anything but kin. I had my truck-drivers and the fly-fisherman from Ohio, and Uncle Buddy had Cheryl from the high school homemakers' course that most of the football team took and had her pretty often to hear him tell it. Plus he had young Jimmy Santangelo who had seen Uncle Buddy go from zero to sixty in the men's room of the gas station and feed and grain store where young Jimmy worked and had pestered Uncle Buddy ever since until they came to an agreement that involved meeting regular-like in the men's room of the gas station and feed and grain store where young Jimmy worked. And that's not counting the heifer. So Uncle Buddy had no cause to be jealous of me for having found a real close personal friend like Jack. It was more like he felt left out of the fun we was having at the table, Jack and me, that is, whilst Dick B. Long tried to talk with him not knowing that Uncle Buddy is the silent type.

To his credit, Luther had some kind of special instinct about not letting people feel left out so whenever he walked past Uncle Buddy which he did a lot going back and forth to the kitchen with dirty plates and clean ones he, Luther, that is, would sort of pat Uncle Buddy on the shoulders and smooth him down his back and generally make it clear that Uncle Buddy had no cause to feel left out. He even served Uncle Buddy the biggest slice of peach pie as though he knew that Uncle Buddy liked peach pie better than almost anything.

Dick B. Long marked how big Uncle Buddy's slice was and asked something like who's the Star around here, but Luther just patted and smoothed Dick B. some and said the poor boy needed building up. "Not so you'd notice" is what Dick B. answered and looked down to where Uncle Buddy's borrowed chinos was stretching across his front. "You ain't seen nothing yet" is what Luther said which made me wonder if he'd maybe had more time with Uncle Buddy than I thought he could have had what with making the steaks and the baked potatoes and the salad and the pie like he, Luther, that is, had.

He made the coffee, too, and whilst we was drinking it, Jack asked me would it be all right if I bunked with him in his cabin which I said I'd be real honored to do if it wasn't any trouble. He said it wasn't and did some rubbing up against me to show he meant it so I believed he was being truthful and not just hospitable behind that nice warm smile of his. He, Jack, that is, said he and Bernie had to do some management work with the Twink after supper that might take some time, the work, that is, because what he called the "artistic temperament" was a complicated phenomenon is what he said and the Twink had a lot of it, artistic temperament, that is. I said I'd be glad to wait for Jack in his cabin, but Jack said that the cabin was where he and Bernie and the Twink were going to take their meeting is the way he put it. He said he'd be glad if I tried my hand at cheering up Dick B. Long whose temperament wasn't so much the problem as his equipment which had been around the track a while is what Jack said and wasn't always firing on all eight cylinders any more.

I asked what might be a good way to cheer up Dick B. Long and Jack said I should ask him if he'd show me some of his work which he could do in the lounge that the X Bar L ranch resort had where there was a big-screen television set and a videotape player. What Jack said was that a video called "Boys A-Simmer" was one of the best examples of Dick B. Long's performances as a Star and that Luther had a copy of it if Dick B. Long didn't but he generally traveled with one, the video, that is, to watch by himself if he needed to be reminded of his past triumphs and oil his equipment is how Jack explained it. Jack was right. Dick B. Long perked right up when I asked could I see some of his work because Jack had told me it would be an education for me as well as a pleasant way to pass the time and to get to know Dick B. better. Dick B. said he'd be pleased to show me some examples and he'd go to his cabin to get a tape of "Boys A-Simmer" and meet me in the lounge where the big-screen television set and videotape machine was.

Arnie heard what we said to one another and said he'd like to come along too because he'd been the cameraman on that shoot and he might pick up a few pointers by watching what he'd done in his stylistic salad days is what he said. I thought Uncle Buddy might enjoy seeing what Dick B. Long and Arnie had done together, but when I found him, he was in the kitchen and at the sink washing and scrubbing pots and pans. He'd taken off Luther's nice, shartrooz, fuzzy sweater so his chest was uncovered and Luther was keeping it dry, Uncle Buddy's chest, that is, by licking up the drops of water that splashed around during the washing and scrubbing and I could see that he, Uncle Buddy, that is, was enjoying himself plenty without seeing no videotape. For that matter, Luther looked like he was enjoying himself, too, and I thought that maybe Uncle Buddy had been lucky enough to find himself a real close personal friend like I'd found Jack and all on account of that elk.