Part 54

Monday morning was total panic. Dick arrived with the Voyager but none of us was ready yet! It seemed like there were fifty seven kids in the bathroom all trying to pee, shit, brush teeth, squeeze zits and shower all at the same time. Breakfast was a couple of gulps of cereal and juice before we headed for the front door.

"Are you sure you’ve got everything?" mom asked.

"I think so!" What was it with moms? Like it was only a day trip to Disney World, not some round-the-world cruise. "Bye, mom."

"What about the tickets?"

"Oh, shit! Oops! Sorry, mom. Didn’t mean to swear. Yeah, the tickets. I’ll go get ‘em. Thanks, mom. Sorry, mom. Bye, mom."

"And tell Dick to drive safely!" Mom’s words faded into oblivion as we climbed aboard.

Once out of town, Dick turned the Voyager onto Interstate-4 which would lead us in the direction of Orlando and, eventually, Disney World. Greg was up front, sitting next to Dick. Paul and Steve sat behind them while Kyle and I had the rear seat. As the miles clicked by, our excitement began to heighten. I’d never been to Disney World let alone on such a long drive. Hey! This was way cool! And no parents!

"Hey, Dick? Are you gonna let me drive part of the way?"

"It’s a three-hour drive, dude, not three years."

"Asshole." I waited until I saw his eyes in the rear-view and gave him the middle finger. After that, conversation was impossible because Pearl Jam was coming out of the stereo at a million watts as we sped along the road at 65 mph. Wild! Woohoo!

We were about half way to Orlando when Dick suddenly took an exit-ramp leading to some place I’d never heard of. After negotiating a narrow, winding road down a hill, we passed a wooden sign: NODSVILLE Pop. 37. A few yards past that, there was another sign made of old sheet-metal which looked like it’d been painted with the tail of a live racoon trying like fucking hell to escape: BERT’S DINER - HOT FOOD. The local vicinity was flat farmland with only a few clumps of trees here and there. A small herd of cows and a few horses grazed in the nearby fields.

"We could’ve stopped at McD’s," somebody complained.

"This looks more interesting," Dick explained as he wheeled the Voyager up to the front door of the diner. Ours was the only car in sight, unless you included a rusty, old Ford pick-up minus its front wheels, and parked by the side of a rickety timber shed attached to the main building. "Besides, Kyle and Steve wanna see the real America."

"This is the real America? I’ve lived here for years, man, and I’ve never seen it!" I laughed. "Wow! This is totally rad!"

The diner’s squeaky, screen door slammed shut as the last of us came inside. Not another soul was there. The only furniture consisted of three tables decorated with cheap, plastic cloths whose red and white checks had almost faded away, salt and pepper shakers, a bowl of sugar and ash-trays that hadn’t been emptied. The chairs were old wooden ones that had seen far better days. I shook one to test its strength and a cloud of dust rose into the air. Only one of the three windows had a curtain. It was tattered and gray from years of neglect and dust. The floor was bare boards which creaked and groaned as we moved about in our sneakers.

"Hello? Anybody here?"

We all froze in our tracks for a moment and listened for a response. The sound of a distant cow was all we got. Wow, this was way spooky! A puff of dust sprang from a bell on the counter as Dick hit it with his palm.

While we waited for somebody to answer, we read the chalk-board menu. Hamburgers, coffee and soda was the limit, except for Bert’s Super Duper Burger with the lot, written in different colored chalk. This guy had to be better at making burgers than sign-writing, we hoped.

During the five minutes it took for Bert to materialize, some of the guys wanted out of there, but Dick insisted that we’d be culturally enriched by the adventure. "Enjoy it dudes, eating in a place like this is probably a once-in-a-lifetime experience."

"Yeah," Paul agreed, "food poisoning will make sure of that."

We each wandered in a different direction to study the old signs on the walls. "Coca~Cola hits the spot!" was one, featuring a painted picture of a girl, probably from the fifties. "The Marlboro Man" was another, with some cowboy on a horse.

"Howdy, boys. What can I do fer y’all? We got hamburgers, hamburgers and hamburgers. Then we got Bert’s Super Duper. What’ll it be?"

Greg was a little suspicious. "I don’t mean to be rude, sir, but is the food OK? I mean, is it fresh?"

"Fresh?" the old man laughed with a wheeze that could only have been the result of a hundred years of smoking. "Y’all see those cows out yonder? Well, there’s one missin’. It went to God this mornin’. That’s how fresh it is." He opened the door of an ancient, yellowed fridge, produced a number of plastic bowls and put them on the bench. "There’s yer meat patties, lettuce, tomato, onion, pickle, ketchup and all the other whatnots. And here’s yer bread rolls, butter and eggs. Over there is the grill and toaster. That’ll be $2.50 for each burger and $1 for each soda."

"You mean we cook them ourselves?"

"I don’t see anybody else here, son. As fer me, I got things to do. Enjoy yer meal and leave yer money on the bench. Y’all have a nice day, now. Oh, and y’all don’t forget to clean up afore y’all go, y’hear?"

What followed was the most rad fun! We must’ve made the biggest fucking burgers in all of history -- which was great because we hadn’t had much breakfast and we were all starving. When they were ready, I put mine on a plate and took it to one of the tables. "Hey, guys!" I laughed. "Check this out!"

Dick’s jaw dropped to the dusty floorboards when he saw me standing there in the middle of the diner, buck naked. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"You said this experience would be culturally enriching. I’ve never been naked in a restaurant before. Now’s my chance, man."

Before Dick could respond, the other guys started giggling and taking off their clothes too, except for Greg who was bug-eyed. "You’ve lost me, guys. I’ll eat my burger in the car."

"Chill, Greg! Have some fun, man! This is something you can tell your grand kids about!"

Our Eurasian bud flicked his long, black hair over his shoulders and shrugged. "Sure, dude. I can just imagine telling my grand kids about this!" He paused for a moment. "But what the hell. OK, I’ll stay. Does that mean I have to get nude too?"

"You betcha!"

Dick was still unconvinced. "But what if people arrive?"

"Like who?" I argued. "Benjamin Franklin? This joint is deserted. And Bert said he had stuff to do, so he won’t be back for a while."

"You’re all fucking crazy, totally off the damn planet, but OK," the six-foot, blonde Adonis mumbled as he undressed. "I must be fucking loco."

When the six of us were in our birthday suits, Paul lifted the top bun from his burger and placed it on the edge of the table. "Anybody wanna gimme some extra mayo?"

Kyle was quick to oblige and started jacking off while Greg looked on, not believing what he was seeing. "You guys are too fucking gross! I’m gonna eat at the other table before I puke." He sat with his back to us, but couldn’t resist turning around every few seconds to check out the situation. It wasn’t long before his frown became a bemused smile. Something told me that, deep down, this dude was enjoying the show. All that bullshit about sitting at another table was just a token effort to preserve his straight image. I figured he’d loosen up once he got to know Kyle and Steve better.

Meanwhile, Dick was getting pretty excited at the sight of Kyle whacking over Paul’s burger. I tapped the Adonis on the shoulder. "Hey, man," I said as I lifted the top off my Bert’s Super Duper. "You wanna gimme some extra mayo?" Dick grinned and started stroking his awesome seven, with its wide shaft and pronounced blue veins. He stood with his knees slightly bent, accentuating his magnificent thigh muscles and those just above his knees. The action of his fist around his thick meat made his right pec and bicep pop with each of his strokes. He thrust his hips forward which caused his stomach to curve inwards. His six pack stood out like a flat tray of golden-brown, hot-cross buns, and would have tasted just as good. No! Better! Jeez! What a bod!

I glanced over at Kyle to see what he was doing. He’d placed one naked foot on the table and spread his ass while he stroked his hardon. Paul was kneeling behind him, forcing his buns apart with his hands and licking his hole. Whoa! That looked so fucking hot! Just as Kyle got ready to blow his load, he bent his throbber down and pressed the head of his cock against the meat patty. A big blob of cum oozed out of his piss hole and grew larger with each successive spurt of hot boy juice. It gradually spread over the burger like a thick, white sauce and dribbled down the sides of the meat. "Well done," I thought. "Very professional."

It was time to return my attention to Dick’s effort. I took the top off his burger and placed both his and mine side by side at the edge of the table, directly under the head of his incredible monster. I watched his balls twitching and bouncing under his blurred fist until they tightened. As he suddenly slowed his stroke and groaned, a long ribbon of white cum shot out of his piss hole and draped itself across my meat patty and salad. He turned slightly and aimed his throbber at his own burger, then back to mine, until his balls had emptied. Woohoo!

By this time, Greg had decided to rejoin us. "I guess I’m gonna have to get used to you guys being fucking weirdos," he laughed. We all sat around naked eating our Bert’s Super Dupers and washing them down with soda, cracking up like crazy at the thought of what would happen if another car pulled up. We had it figured out, though. We’d just tell the folks that this was a nudist restaurant. Yeah, right.

When I’d finished my meal, I went to the old fridge and got another hamburger bun, split it in half with my thumbs and wrapped it around my boner. Then I climbed on top of the table. "Anybody for a Daniel Super Duper Hot Dog, y’all?"

"Hey, y’all! What in dang tarnation’s goin’ on here?" Bert demanded as he appeared through the back door.

"Sorry, sir," I said meekly, "we were just funnin’ around is all." I jumped off the table and stood there like an idiot, not knowing what to say next. Being busted naked in a public restaurant with a hamburger bun wrapped around your boner wasn’t exactly the most sophisticated of situations to be found in.

Bert’s craggy, old face dissolved into a lopsided smile. "Pity y’all can’t be the local entertainment hereabouts. I reckon business would pick up mighty fast. Don’t figure the local police would be abidin’ by yer idea of showbiz, though," he wheezed. "Now you boys get dressed and clean up, y’hear?"

The old guy turned out to be pretty cool. He helped us clean up and asked a lot of questions about where we came from and where we were going. He was mighty interested in Kyle and Steve. "South Africa? That’s where Humphrey Bogart went once and operated a small river boat. African Queen, I think it was. Lots of jungle and colored folk runnin’ around with spears and eatin’ each other. Is it still like that? And how come you whippersnappers are white? Must be a lotta white folks livin’ there now."

Bert never gave Steve or Kyle an opportunity to answer his questions. He’d no sooner finish asking one when he’d think of another. After a while, we just let him ramble on to suit himself. In the end, he thanked us for our interesting visit. "Y’all come back now. But keep yer clothes on next time," he laughed.

As he turned to walk away, we heard him muttering something about how we’d reminded him of the crazy stuff he did when he was a kid.

Once back on the freeway to Orlando, I reached into my shirt pocket and produced a small plastic container. "What’s that?" Kyle asked, taking it from me.

"Ketchup. You still feel like the Daniel Super Duper Hot Dog?" I smiled as I unbuttoned my shorts, reached into my boxers and flopped out my monster seven. "I was really pissed that you didn’t have time to blow me this morning."

Kyle took the ketchup and poured it all over my boner. The guys in front turned around to see what was going on. "Keep your fucking eyes on the road," I heard Greg say to Dick who was adjusting the rear-view mirror to get a better look at what we were doing. Steve and Paul hung over the back of their seat to watch the show.

I pushed my shorts and boxers past my knees and down to my ankles, then moved my ass to the edge of the seat to make it easier for Kyle to get his hot lips around my rock-hard cock. He used his finger to smear the ketchup along the underside of my shaft and over my balls. Then he leaned forward to lick it all off. His black hair was tumbling down the sides of his face and over his forehead, so I couldn’t see much of what he was doing. But I could sure feel it. It was just so fucking cool to be doing 65 along the freeway and watching all the scenery drift by as Kyle’s lips and tongue worked their fantastic magic on my teen meat.

I felt his feather-light touch on the inside of my thigh, and automatically opened my legs. In a second, he had his finger sliding into my hole as he continued to suck for all he was worth. Paul and Steve soon got tired of Kyle’s hair being in the way of the show and turned to face the front. Shortly after, only Steve was visible above the back of their seat, so I figured he was getting head from Paul.

Pearl Jam was so damn loud I didn’t worry about screaming my lungs out as my ass squeezed Kyle’s finger and the first of my wads catapulted into my bud’s mouth. He kept his head bobbing up and down and his tongue working my swollen knob as another five or six jets of my sticky boy juice followed. It was way bigger than my average load. It just kept coming and coming. Man, it felt so fucking awesome!

The ear-piercing blast of an air-horn was quickly followed by somebody in the Voyager yelling "holy shit!" I looked out my side window and saw a big tour bus right alongside us. Every window had several faces pressed against the glass. They were all girls, and every one of them was waving and laughing. Dick stepped on the gas until we’d separated ourselves from the bus by about half a mile. When we’d all gotten over the shock of what had happened, we cracked up big time and laughed ourselves hoarse all the way to Mickey Mouse Ville where we exited the I-4 for the thirty-minute drive to Disney World.

EPCOT and Mickey had two separate entrances, so we chose EPCOT first because we’d heard how rad it was. EPCOT turned out to be our fav -- a huge, stadium-sized building shaped like a golf ball. It totally blew our minds with all its high-tech stuff and virtual travels in time and space. It was so damn real, it was just like being an astronaut, only you could go backwards in time as well as forwards. It ruled big time, and we spent about five hours there.

It was mid-afternoon by the time we drove over to the second entrance. Mickey’s and most of the other parking lots were already full, so we were flagged by an attendant into Goofy’s. After locking the van, we boarded a little, open-air tram type thingy that took us on the long haul to the ticket gates.

"Man, this place must be as big as Cape Town," Kyle laughed. His South African bud’s head was swivelling in all directions.

"Almost 30,000 acres." Dick said as he pointed to a group of spires in the far distance. "And that’s Cinderella’s Castle you can see over there."

"Awesome!"

It was shortly after 3:00pm as we entered the gates of Disney World. Man, what a place! It was as big as any major city I’d ever seen! None of us could believe the crowds of people, although most of them were either adults or little kids. We soon got the message that this wasn’t exactly a teen's hangout.

There was no way we could’ve seen the whole damn thing in one afternoon, so we saw what we could by taking a ride on the old-time Disney Railroad which travelled around the perimeter of the park and stopped at various theme towns and villages. The only place we all agreed on visiting was the Haunted House which had these totally cool holograms of spooky stuff. It rocked! When we finally emerged, we were all a shade paler from having the shit scared out of us, but none of us would admit to it. We were all way too fucking tough for all that little-kid, scaredy-cat baloney. Yeah, right.

Following the final Disney character parade, we stayed to watch the fireworks display over Cinderella’s Castle. We filled our bellies with hot dogs and soda as we watched the incredible explosions of color streaking through the sky and falling like brilliant petals of fire before being extinguished in mid flight. By then it was time to head home.

It was a three-hour drive, and Dick was the only licensed driver. We were only fifteen minutes out of Orlando, after spending an hour in the dense traffic exiting Disney World, when Dick announced that he was getting pretty tired. He took an exit-ramp which led to a small town. He steered the Voyager toward the flashing neon "Motel" sign and pulled-up about fifty yards before the office.

"We camp here for tonight, guys. I’m too burnt-out to drive all the way home. Daniel, Paul, Steve, Kyle, take a hike a ways down the road and wait for us there. Greg and I will book in and get a room for two. That’s all I can afford. When the coast is clear, we’ll signal you guys to join us in the room. K? Meantime, I’ll phone home and tell mom to let everybody’s folks know what’s going on and that we’re all OK."

The four of us climbed out of the van and walked a short way down the road where we waited under a tree to shield us from the street light. We watched the Voyager drive under the reception awning and stop. Dick left the engine running as he stepped from the car and walked into the motel office. Within five minutes he was back in the Voyager and steering it slowly to one of the motel rooms. He chose the one at the far end, swinging the van nose-first into the parking bay. We waited until he’d opened the motel-room door and gave us the all-clear before we ran across the road and went inside.

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