Date: Sun, 4 Nov 2018 11:30:41 -0500
From: Bryan James <bryjaman001@gmail.com>
Subject: By The Moonlight

When you go to college out of state and your first return home is Christmas
break, well, that can be a bit distressing, at least it was for me, because
I had changed in those few months.  Not changed so much as was freed,
that's the word.  I felt free.  I didn't have to worry about the other kids
at school and my parents always being over my shoulder.  It was just me.
When I slept, what I ate, where I went, and who I saw, they were all my
choices.  I could walk around campus in the middle of the night, order
pizza at 3 A.M., whatever I wanted to do as long as I had the funds, as
long as I had the nerve.
Yeah, there were many things still to do.  I hadn't conquered anything, but
coming home, that just felt weird.  It felt as if I were traveling at a
different speed and when I got home everything was going a little slower.
People around town didn't walk with the same kind of enthusiasm.  And my
parents, it was weird.  It was like they put up with it for a few days and
slowly but surely they ground me back down to be able to exist in their
little world, my little hometown.  I longed to get back to college and
regretted it a little, not coming back so much as having to spend all my
time, all the stupid, boring time I had to spend there around the house,
around the town.
And it was a boring town.  The movie theater, the mall, good coffee,
anything, was all thirty miles away.  It was like they existed in a
parallel universe.  At first I had thought I'd get out everyday, adventure
around and see something, try to look at my town, the towns around it, as
some alien world and I would be the researcher, try to gather up
experiences and sights to store them for some kind of story.  I tried for a
few days, but then my parents complained about the second car always being
gone, then they complained about how many miles I was putting on it.  A
trip everyday became a trip every other day, then none at all for a two
days and I just sat around the house in my sweatpants and did nothing,
didn't shower, nothing.
Sometime around noon as I sat on the couch for the fifth day with my father
in his recliner eating pretzels and drinking beer it felt like that was the
entirety of my existence.  I knew when shows were scheduled, had plans to
binge watch `80s horror movies, and it just felt like there was nothing
else in existence when my father cleared his throat and spoke up.
"I'm surprised you're not out with your friends," he said.
"Naw, I haven't really talked to them.  They're all doing stuff with their
families."
It was true.  We had mostly stayed in contact via social media and all of
them were busy being these idols, these statues, these fine items to be
shown off to grandparents, aunts and uncles.  They all smiled for the
camera in their selfies but I knew the pain behind the eyes.  I was
fortunate in that my family, my parents weren't anything like that.  We
always had this thing of sticking together, not really liking our extended
family.  My uncle and his son would be over for Christmas Eve and we all
had to rally at my grandmother's for Christmas day, but we didn't go to
family functions.  I guess we were the black sheep.  I wasn't sure which
would be more miserable and I was about to check my phone for the tenth
time when my mother left the room and my father made a show of reaching
into his pocket and pulling out his wallet.  He opened it and I saw several
bills inside.  He was loaded for the holidays, probably had to stuff a few
cards and get some gifts.
"Take this, here, take this," he whispered.
I checked make sure my mother was busy in the kitchen and retrieved the
bill, a hundred bucks, just like that.  I looked at him suspiciously.
"Don't tell your mother how much I gave you.  I told her I was going to
give you some but not how much, so that's our little secret.  Go get a
shower, put on some fresh clothes, and get the hell out of the house, the
keys are hanging by the door for my car.  Don't put a scratch on it and
don't drink and drive."
"Thanks dad," I said.
"Maybe get yourself laid," he replied.
That's fathers, he had this weird way of saying the completely wrong thing,
some kind of joke, and it was like I didn't want to see my father that
way.  But it barely felt like anything.  I had a hundred bucks to spend on
myself, just for me, and there was no expectation to keep it.  I showered,
put on new clothes, and grabbed the keys by the door.  In twenty minutes I
as out of the house and chipper as I walked to my fathers 1998 Cadillac.
He had kept it in mint condition, bitched about the gas, complained about
the cost for parts, but he always parked in the garage in the winter time,
kept up with all its needs.  His relationship to the car was like his
relationship to my mother.
Anyway, as soon as I got in there was the first bite, a nearly empty tank
of gas.  I sighed and knew it would take a chunk of my money just to get
out of town and depending on how far I drive it would cost more to get
back.  I groaned and pulled out of the driveway trying to keep myself
upbeat by tapping on the steering wheel as I listened to the radio.  Within
a few streets I found myself aimlessly wondering as I looked for a gas
station with the cheapest price.  That was my father's thing too, drive
just to save money.  Well, I was running low and worried about making it to
any gas station when I saw one that I had been to rarely over the years.
It was closer to the national forest than anything else, kind of the fill
up spot for people with ATVs and dirt bikes.  It was a dirty, grungy place,
and I didn't like the idea of pulling in there but then my fear of running
out of gas overwhelmed me so I did.  I pulled in beside the pump, looked
down at the hundred dollar bill and bit my lip as I contemplated just how
far I could stretch the money when there was a tap on the glass.  It was a
mechanic with a rag in his hand, young, about my age, holy, it was Tim.  I
rolled down the window and shut off the car and he smiled back at me.
Tim had been my best friend all through elementary and middle school.  We
used to do everything together, spend weekends at each other's house, ride
our bikes up and down every street, but then we had a falling out between
junior high and high school.  Not a falling out so much as a disconnect.
My parents got me busy with volunteer work and working at the golf course
as a caddy for a bit of extra cash, and Tim, he just kind of went his own
way.  I heard that he ended up in juvie hall for a month or so because he
pulled a knife on someone.  Then he was always fighting with his parents
and teachers.  He went the vo-tech route.  I went the college prep route.
I'd hear stories about him but I actually kind of ignored them as if I
didn't want to know, didn't want to face the fact that I wanted to help him
but was powerless to do so because my family, my friends, wouldn't like
it.  Eventually I heard he just stopped coming his senior year.
"It's been a long time," he said.
"No kidding, it's been years," I replied, "I heard you dropped out."
"Kicked," he said.
"Too bad, well, but you're working here," I said.
"Yeah, it's a job.  So what are you up to today?"
"Not much, just cruising around I guess.  My father gave me a hundred bucks
to spend on myself.  I'm trying to figure out how far it'll stretch."
"Heard that," Tim said as he leaned against the car.  "So uh, not going out
and meeting up with your friends.  I know you were popular in high school."
"Not popular, just social," I said, "but naw, they're all busy with family
and stuff.  We don't really do that sort of thing.  I've been trying to
adventure around but kind of stopped doing it.  The hundred bucks may not
get me far but it got me off the couch."
He laughed at my joke and I laughed a little too.  He looked me over,
looked the car over.  I looked him over, motorcycle boots, worn jeans that
clung to the angles of his body, an old mechanic's shirt with no sleeves,
bigger muscles than I remembered, bigger muscles than I expected.  He
leaned a little more and his shirt ran up giving me a peak of his jeans
that hung loose to reveal the band of his underwear, briefs.  He still wore
briefs just like me.  And just as I was about to imagine him in just those
briefs he spoke up.
"Do you get high?"
"What?"
I had heard him but just the mention of getting high, of breaking the law,
well it made me perk up and I looked around.  Was this some kind of setup?
Was he undercover, a snitch?  I looked him the eyes and tried to determine
just how real the offer was and then if I wanted to do it.  I wanted to do
it.  But I was also afraid.  Cops, my parents, and just the thought of
breaking the law made me feel like I would go to jail for the rest of my
life.
"Do you, get high?"
"No, but uh, I might be interested."
"Cool, I'll fill `er up and come back in two hours.  I know a guy."
And like that it was done.  He filled up my tank, I paid him, and drove
away with my change.  I drove around town again, stopped at the convenience
store, browsed through the toy section of the local dollar store, and
debated if I should go back.  This fear in me, this fear of getting caught,
made me walk on my heels.  But this feeling of doing it, this rush of
danger, made me walk with my shoulders high.  I was a mess, an awkward,
gangly, weird kid who just kept repeating, I can't believe I found Tim
again after all these years and we're going to get high.  He's going to get
weed.
And that was kind of the best part of Tim, the unpredictability.  He was a
person of single intent, like me a hedonist in the best sense of the word,
but also something else, willing to do the things people aren't supposed to
do, willing to break the rules and break the law.  That was Tim.  That was
why I loved him an why I feared him.  I debated it from every angle, even
considered talking him out of it, just driving around together and talking
about old times, but in the end I gave in to it.  I gave into going back
there and picking him up, getting weed, and maybe even getting high.
Two hours later I picked him up and he gave me directions out of town as
the sun began to set.  Soon I was driving in the dark and one side road
turned into a dirt road and for a long time I wondered if he even knew
where he was taking us until we reached an old farmstead and he told me to
pull in front of the house.  I looked around and saw there were no signs of
life.  No lights in the house, no dogs, no domestic animals of any kind.
He walked to the porch and turned back to me.
"Is this your parents' house?" I asked.  "Are you renting it?"
"Something like that," he said.
And he walked up the steps and entered the house without even using a key.
The place was mostly empty, a few pieces of furniture, but the bookshelves
were empty, no TV.  I followed behind him and for a moment I thought we
were just trespassing on some random farm when he led me down some steps
into an unfinished basement.  We walked to the farthest corner to a sink
basin large enough to hold a person sitting in it, well a small person, but
still.  He turned on the water and stripped off his shirt, then began to
wash himself.
At first I was okay with it, just his chest, his stomach, but then he began
to really wash his armpits, soap them up and clean them off.  When he was
done he threw the towels into the corner where I saw a pile of them.  He
must just throw them away, well into the corner, when he's done with them,
I figured.
"Do you want a drink?  It's cold water, from the well.  They never had city
water out here so it still works."
"Do you know if it's safe?"
"Who cares?  It hasn't killed me yet," he said.
He motioned for me to drink with my hands so I did.  I did it.  Water ended
up spilling down the front of my shirt and we laughed about it, but I did
it.  Then he motioned for me to pay attention before he stepped to the door
to the well and he took a key from his pocket and unlocked this little
padlock, set it aside, pulled a board back, and opened it.
There it was, light.  There in the corner of the well room he had three
marijuana plants, the walls were covered in tin foil, and two fluorescent
lights powered by a line that run up some steps and out into the yard
somewhere.
"Where are you getting the power from?"
"Solar," he said, "my weed is organic and solar grown, almost completely
natural."
"When did you start caring about that shit?"
"I don't.  I just like bragging," he said.
"So like, you grow your own?"
"Yep," he said.  "Want a hit?"
*****
A full moon, a few clouds, we looked out over the field and back to the
barn about a hundred yards away.  It was quiet out there, no cars going up
and down the road, just us.  A little bit of weed, a few cans of beer, I
was buzzing pretty good as we sat out on that old bail of hay at the end of
the field.
"Why'd you bring me out here?"
"Well, at first because I hadn't seen you in years and with you off at
college, well, we probably won't stay friends.  You'll get a job or
whatever, but I'll be stuck here in this little town so we might as well
have some good memories."
"Cool," I replied.
"But now that we're out here, I keep thinking about something," he said.
I could tell he wanted to say something to me.  Was is this?  What did he
want from me?  Did he want the same things I wanted?
"I keep thinking about one of the last times we hung out and I dared you to
streak from your porch to mine.  It was a legitimate dare but you chickened
out."
"I didn't chicken out.  I would have been arrested and that's one of the
rules of truth or dare, you can't get the person arrested, no permanent
scars, no tears."
"Aw, it would have been fine, one minute, you'd ran back and forth all of
the time between our houses," he said, "well, anyway, would you do it
tonight?"
"What?"
"Finish that dare," he said.
"Here?"
"Why not?"
"Because we're not kids anymore, besides isn't there a statute of
limitations to dares?"
"Chicken," he mocked, then began to make chicken sounds.
"Okay, I'll do it," I said.
"Really?  Let's see it."
Immediately I had second thoughts, there was this feeling in my stomach.  I
was half drunk, half stoned, and he was right there.  He looked to me,
cocked his eye at me.  Slowly I pushed up a little from the bail of hay,
stood there beside him, and began to undress.  He took my shirt, my
undershirt, my shoes, my socks, and my jeans.  I stood there in my briefs
and he looked me over.  I took off my underwear, cupped my dick and balls
in my hands, and turned away.  I walked half the distance and I suddenly
realized that with that full moon I was completely visible out there.  I
turned and walked back but didn't see him sitting on the bail of hay.  He
took my clothes, I thought.  He's stranded me out here naked, but then I
saw his head stick up from behind the bail of hay.  He stepped out and in
front of me, completely naked, his dick hung loose, balls like a sack of
jewels.  He stood before me unashamed, completely casual.  And there was
only one thing on my mind.
"Where's my clothes?" I asked.
"Safe, with mine," he said.
"What's going on?"
"I figured you'd be too chicken shit so I thought I'd do it with you."
He walked to me, stepped beside me and I turned to look at that barn now
farther away than I had initially thought.  He started to walk like it was
a stroll down the road.  At first I noticed the way his dick bounced from
side to side, then the farther away he got the way his ass muscles shifted
with each step.  He got some distance between us and I looked around for my
clothes.  I knew he had hid them where I couldn't find them so I started to
walk after him, faster to catch up, then I slowed and walked beside him
still cradling my nuts and my dick.
The blades of grass felt strange under my feet.  I was completely aware of
what we looked like, but the worst part was that I was the scared one.  I
still covered myself.  So I took my hands away, tried to walk normal.  My
balls bounced against my thighs, my dick swayed from side to side because I
had a little bit of a chub going on that I couldn't control.  We made it
halfway, past where I had gotten to, and this wind blew across the field.
It felt as if it had wrapped around my entire body like a string or a
scarf, then it was pulled across every part of me and gone.  My dick stuck
out from my body and I stopped and looked down to it, covered it as best I
could with it pressed up against my thigh.  He stopped, turned to me, and
laughed.  It wasn't a cruel laugh.  It was a kind laugh, as if there was
some joke I was missing out on and he wanted to share.
"There's no one around and I don't care if you got a hard on for me," he
said.
"It's not you," I replied, "it's, it's this air, and being naked.  I
haven't been able to jerk off since I got home.  It's weird, you know, with
your parents a few rooms away.  I never used to think about it, but now, I
just can't."
"Well, there's no one around now, so let me see it," he said with a smirk.
I took my hands away, my hard dick stuck out from me and a little to the
left.  He turned away and started walking so I followed behind him, this
time a little behind.
When we got to the barn and touched it I was fully prepared to turn and run
back to the bail of hay and grab my clothes, get dressed, but then he
opened the door to the barn and stepped inside.  I looked around,
considered my options, then followed.  I stepped onto the old, rough
concrete floor, the smell of hay still lingered there after all the time of
being abandoned.  Tim led me down the aisle, paused at little things here,
a saw horse, a bit of hose attached to a pipe sticking out of the wall, and
slow as if to draw out the time I was naked and hard.  He walked from stall
to stall as if checking on something, then finally we ended up at the back
door again.  I readied myself to run but he put a hand on my shoulder and
stopped me.  He stepped out first, motioned for me to follow, and he walked
so I walked.
Any little sound, the hoot of an owl, the distant sound of a car engine, a
semi-truck engine as it tried to climb the mountain roads, and I thought
we'd be discovered.  This was too good to be true.  But we weren't.  We
reached the bail of hay and I scratched at myself, waited for him to
retrieve our clothes but he just stood there beside me.
"Are you ready for this?"
"What," I said.
He took my hand and started to run so I ran just to keep up.  There we were
two young men, naked and running through the field.  His limp dick bounced
and so did my hard dick, though a little less, but we just ran all of the
way to the end of the field where the woods were.  I tried to turn back but
he pulled me along the fence line to a spot where there was an opening.  He
pulled me through it and into the woods, then we ran again into the trees,
branches scraped across our skin, leaves and things crushed under our
feet.  This is what it must have been like to be primitive man, I thought,
so free, so naked and running around.
He took me down to a creek that we followed until we found where it
started, a small waterfall, and I could tell at once that it would be the
deepest part, just a few feet, maybe up to our waists, but deep enough to
conceal my raging boner.  I jumped into the water first, felt it wrap me up
in its coolness, and swam a few feet.  Tim let out a yell and jumped in
behind me.  I turned and shushed him but he waved it off.
"What if someone hears?"
"We're so far away from anyone, besides I come out here all of the time,"
he said.
"But we're naked," I said.
"So what?  Do you really think there's some cop around every corner?  Not a
chance, no way, it's just us, and nature."
He let his knees go loose like I had and began to bob there in the water in
front of me.  He moved back and forth and it became like this little game,
this challenge.  He went left then right, my foot slipped on the mud and
got around me, as I struggled to recover my footing he got up behind me so
that when I got to my feet he was in full contact with my body, his chest
against my back, his arms under mine, around me, held me, his hips behind
mine, his thighs against mine, his feet on either side of mine, and his
penis, his hard penis was between my thighs.  And for a moment I almost
cried out in surprise when he put his fingers in my mouth with one hand and
took hold of my hard penis with the other.  I could feel his fingers
against my tongue, creek water dripped down the back of my throat.  He held
me for a long time until I calmed and came to my senses.  I tried to speak
out but he shushed me with these little sounds as he kissed at my ear and
down my neck.  I was on edge.  He turned me to face him.  Our hard dicks
pointed at one another he took mine in hand, whacked at it with his just to
show me how much bigger his was.  He pulled me into a kiss and stuck his
dick between my thighs.  I wanted him so bad but he pulled my head away by
my hair.
"Not yet," he said, "you don't deserve to cum just yet."
By the time we reached the bail of hay we were both almost completely dry,
and my dick had gone soft but I had that need, that carnal need to be
satisfied.  And it was going to be over too soon, I hated the idea of
getting dressed and it ending so when he didn't stop for our clothes and he
kept pulling me to the barn I knew it wasn't over.  He pulled me through
the field, I slipped and scurried, and he just kept pulling me until he had
me in there and he closed the gated door behind us.  He took hold of my
dick as I stood there.
"I feel so naughty," I said.
"Do you want me to punish you?  Because I can punish you," he said.
"What did you have in mind a little spanking?" I asked coyly.
"Better," he said.
He led me, our hard cocks stuck out in front of us, he led me to the barn
where he pulled out this old saw horse.  He made me drag it into the aisle
and position it over a drain.  He stroked his dick as he walked around me,
ordered me to lay over it.  He tied my hands, tied my ankles, and I was
stuck there.  I pulled at the twine, felt the way its fibers hung loose and
tickled my hands and heels.  I was bent over, my ass cheeks parted, my dick
hung down, and he groped me, tickled my hole, then he left me there for a
moment.  I heard him leave the barn and I realized just how alone I felt,
how vulnerable.  I felt this breath stick in my lungs, then I heard his
feet, the door closed, and he walked to me.  I looked down to see his
shoes, looked up to see him stroke his hard dick.  He had a belt and pair
of underwear in his other hand.
"Open your mouth," he said.
He squatted down in front of me, slapped me a few times until I opened my
mouth.  He stuffed the briefs inside and I immediately tried to spit them
out.  He snapped the belt, my dick twitched.  I saw him stroke it.  I
shifted, felt my own dick rub against the wood.  He stepped behind me.  He
beat my ass, the novelty was gone in an instant and yet I wanted to do it
for him, and because it felt so surreal and fun in this weird sort of way.
One then the other, back and forth, thwack after thwack, I cried out and he
kept at me until I managed to work the briefs out of my mouth.  I told him
to stop or I'd scream.
"So scream," he said, "let me hear it, really cry out in pain."
I started to scream.  And he kept beating me.  Until my ass felt like a
bulb left on for hours, a piece of bread just out of the oven.  I screamed
until my lungs were sore and my voice cracked.  I broke down, tears ran out
from my eyes into my hair, snot just there on my lip.  He stroked himself
and walked around me, the occasional tap against my butt cheeks.  That's
when he moved to my thighs and I felt this resurgence, this second wind,
and started to struggle again.  My body shook, my legs were uncontrollable,
my ass twitched, and he moved to my ankles, untied them.
He told me to lift up my feet and took hold of my ankle, then he whipped
the bottom of my foot with his belt.  It stung.  He did it again and I was
afraid I'd never be able to put my foot down again.  My toes curled and it
really started to hurt, I was holding my breath more, and that's when he
switched to the other foot.  Back and forth, my ass, and my feet, until I
was raw.  He had me.  I was completely broken, and that's when I felt him
at my asshole.
"Is that your dick?" I squealed.
"Just my finger," he said.
"Oh no, your dick is going to hurt more," I said.
"And you're going to love it."
He stroked his dick a little as he sucked the finger of his other hand
before he pressed it back against my hole.  He kept at me like that until
he got the first digit inside of me, then the first knuckle.  He stood and
touched his dick to my hole, too tight, he let it slide up the back of me
and I felt the full length of him measured out from my hips to along my
spine.  It was big, long, and thick.  He swiped it back down, pressed the
tip at my hole, then down my taint to my balls.  His dick touched mine.
"Are you ready for it college boy?"
"Please," I said.
He spanked me and I pleaded for more.  He ran his fingers along my body as
he walked around to my head where he squatted and stuck his dick to my
lips.  It was too big.  I tried to shake it off.
"I'm sticking this dick up your ass and you better get it real slick and
wet because that's the only lubricant we got tonight, just a little spit.
What's it going to be?"
I opened my mouth and wasn't prepared for it to slip right along my tongue
to my throat where I began to choke immediately.  Tears came to my eyes,
spit squished out from between my puffy lips that had swelled with desire
and friction.  He went right to the balls, I felt them on my top lip.  And
I began to choke so he pulled out.  He let me breath for a moment, his
hands on my stomach as I tried to suck in just a little bit of air.  He
stuck it back into my mouth, between my teeth, he fucked my face as I hung
bent in half.  I pulled at the twine, kicked out my feet, but he had me.
And when he decided he'd had enough of my face, I was thankful for the gobs
of spit, the strands that connected us for a moment before he walked behind
me.  He pressed that dick against my hole and I just let go.  I screamed
and he pushed into me as deep as he could.  He fucked me, more and more,
gobs of sweat dropped from his lips as little welcome acts of kindness and
humiliation.  He spanked at my thighs, spanked at my ass.  I gave myself
over to him, to it.
We were connected, not just physically but something else, he had known my
pain of blind obedience and he was able to manifest it.  There I was tied
down and we were rutting in an old barn like animals, and it felt like my
life, the pointlessness, the emptiness of my life of being good, being
normal, trying to blend.  He had me.  My old friend had me and I cried for
him, gave my body over to him, he broke me just like my life had broken me,
and that's when I felt it.  I felt this incredible sensation of freedom
because it felt like that lie had been uncovered that if I just go along,
just do as I'm told then this is what it felt like on the inside.
I felt my dick spasm, an orgasm of pleasure and pain unlike any other
pulled at the ends of my body like a stretched rubber band, I could feel it
leaving me, this squirt of goo, and it was like my body was restored,
complete, until I became conscious of him on top of me.  His sweat covered
body slipped over mine until he grabbed hold of me and fucked me harder
until he pushed inside as far as he could go.  I felt his dick there, this
fullness, and there was this spasm from him, this sensation, and it was
over.  I went limp, let the darkness take me.
The next morning I awoke to find myself face down with him wrapped around
me on top of me.  I stirred a little and tried to push him away but he was
already awake.  He held me there.  I struggled but he held me.  He kissed
me on the neck and told me to give up.  I didn't.  He told me again.  I
struggled.  He spanked me, pressed into me, and I let go, I relaxed under
him.  He spanked me again playfully and walked away to the back of the
barn, opened the door and I looked to see him pissing.  He shook it off,
then walked over to me.
"That was incredible," I said as I lay on my back and looked up to him.
"I always knew you were a little masochist, always so obedient, you had to
love pain," he said.
It wasn't about being good or bad.  It was about my guilt.  And he knew how
to take it away.


--
Bryan James
bryjaman001@gmail.com
queerwordsmakestories.blogspot.com/