(No warnings -- you know why you're here.

As my regular readers know, I'm not at all fond of the present. I'm not expecting much from the future either, because for most of us, things just keep getting worse. If it turns out that in the future some fucking rich guys will keep harems of boys and also get to use them as tax write-offs, I won't be at all surprised.

This story is frankly dystopian. If you don't like that, tough shit. Maybe you'll stick it out for the sex scenes. The later ones are pretty intense, so go ahead and skip ahead to part 2, or, better yet, 3 if you just want a quick jack. This story has a real beginning, middle, and end, and maybe something to say. I don't upload a story until it's done.

2020 is public domain, free of all copyright protection. Steal it if you are so inclined. Although the story is free, Nifty is not. Go to http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html and make a tax deductible contribution.)

2020

Part One

Mom was worried when Dad took out that term life insurance policy. He got some part-time work, but we were struggling just to pay the mortgage and put food on the table and pay the electric bill. We couldn't afford phones -- not even prepaid -- and we couldn't afford internet. We'd already lost the car. We just had the one TV the law said we had to have, and all we got on it was the one channel you still got for free -- the one where there was nothing but guys yelling at you and telling you how people like me and my mom and dad were just shit.

Dad always made the life insurance payments, though, which I learned from Mom after he wandered out onto the interstate and got killed by that old guy driving that old Avalon. The insurance company tried to show it was a suicide, but my dad was so drunk when he did it the jury decided he just staggered out into traffic and got himself killed by accident. We got $100,000. It was too late to save the house, but that didn't matter. We didn't need the house. We just needed a place to live.

The old guy with the Avalon was really pissed because he probably couldn't afford insurance no more, and I even felt a little sorry for him until he called us niggers. Me and my mom are as white as most of the white people are, and he was just a stupid old man who listened to the free TV. So fuck him.

Anyway, Mom found us a basement apartment in some lady's house, where we wouldn't piss away the 100 grand that fast. She wanted to make the money last at least five years, because people kept saying things would turn around, although they never did, and the chance of Mom getting a job was just about zero.

The bankers never caught wind of Dad's term life, so we actually got to keep it instead of paying off Dad's credit cards. That was not too usual, because those fucking bankers took everything they could, and treated the rest of us like shit, and was always on that TV channel saying how we was the problem, because they was doing fine.

I was thinking maybe I was just a piece of shit when that first guy found me. He saw me looking in the window of a deli. Damn, it was just a deli, and all they had in the window was some pictures of sandwiches, and I was just so hungry I couldn't look away. He put an arm around my skinny little shoulder, and said, "Want a sandwich, kid?"

"You paying?" I replied.

"Why else would I ask you?" he asked me. That kind of made sense.

So I said, "Corned beef and pastrami, with cole slaw and Russian dressing," which was my favorite sandwich in the world, not that I'd ever had one to myself. I'd just tasted a little piece of one when I was eight or nine, but I remembered.

"Corned beef and pastrami, with cole slaw and Russian dressing," he repeated. "I've got the money," he told me. "How do you intend to pay?"

I have to tell you I knew that was coming, because some of my friends had been sucking cock for money for a while. I really wanted that sandwich, though. All I ever got from Mom was cabbage and potatoes and beans, maybe with a little scrapple, so I figured a real good sandwich might be worth sucking some stranger's cock.

"Okay," I said, "I'll suck you off, but if I'm not so good at it don't give me a hard time. I never done it before."

"Never?" he asked, his face lighting up like sunshine on a cloudy day.

"No, never," I answered him, "but I am so fucking hungry -- I mean, so fucking hungry -- you just can't imagine. And if it gets me a nice sandwich, I don't care if I have to suck your dick all afternoon."

So that's how it started. Mom still had a lot of money from Dad's insurance, but she spent it on shit like the rent and the electric and like that. Food didn't seem to matter to her all that much. If I wanted to eat, I had to eat dick. So I did.

..........

So he went in and bought the sandwich and even got me a can of ginger ale, and I could smell that pastrami and corned beef when we got in his car and drove off to some parking spot he knew next to the highway. It still had a sign that said "Scenic Overlook," but they'd already wrecked the scenery fracking for gas. Yes, the gas was all gone by then, but the scenery was still wrecked, so nobody else was likely to stop there. I had to eat dick before I ate deli sandwich, and all I could think was I hoped he didn't kill me and leave me there and eat my sandwich himself.

It was a pretty fancy car -- a late model Audi -- and he was dressed in a pretty fancy looking gray suit with those tiny stripes. I don't remember his face at all. He got out of the car and took off his suit jacket and put it in the back seat. Then he got back in behind the wheel, undid his pants, and pushed them down to just above his knees, and the same with his underpants. His dick was already stiff, and poking up out of a bush of black and curlies. I had not seen a lot of grown-up dicks before, but I'd seen Dad's, and some men in the showers at the county pool before they sold it off and made it a private country club we couldn't afford to go to no more. None of them was hard, though.

Well, it was a lot bigger than mine, but it still was kind of a little one, so I figured I'd lucked out as I ducked down to take it in my mouth. I was surprised by how nice it smelled, kind of like flowers. I was even more surprised by how bad it tasted, and I pulled my head up. "What the fuck'd you put on there?" I asked. "It tastes like, I don't know, something from chemistry."

"It's just cologne," he said. "Keeps me smelling fresh and clean."

"Well, you smell gppd, but you taste awful. Maybe you should just put it in your pubes and leave your cock alone."

"Perhaps I'll take your advice," he said. "In the meanwhile, just tough it out. I'm sure that sandwich will take all the bad tastes out of your mouth."

I guessed he was right about that, and I really wanted to get to that sandwich before it got too cold. Corned beef and pastrami, I heard, are best when they're still warm, so I tried to ignore the chemical taste of his cock and just got down to sucking it, trying to keep my tongue out of the way.

"Tongue," he said. "If you don't use your tongue, you'll be there all night."

I figured that was also good advice, and anyway, most of the chemical taste of the cologne was gone by then, so I licked up the head of his little circumcised cock as best I could, thinking about how I might want it done to me. It worked. He shot his wad in less than a minute. I didn't know I was supposed to swallow it, so I let it leak out of my mouth onto his pubes.

"Fucking amateur," he said. "Take off your t-shirt."

I did what he said, and he used my t-shirt to mop up all that cum. Then he handed me my gooey t-shirt and my sandwich and soda, and told me to get out of the car. I did that, and he pulled up his pants and drove away.

I hung my t-shirt on a bush to dry, and ate my sandwich. It was a hell of a good sandwich, but I wasn't sure it was worth it. It wasn't so much the cocksucking, which was no big deal. It was being treated like a piece of shit. That's all we were to those rich motherfuckers, and I didn't like it at all. I had to think of a way to get even.

Also, I had to think of a way to get home. I was maybe ten miles away.

..........

There was not a lot of traffic, so it was pretty easy to cross the highway so I could go back the way I came. I knew there was still some people who stuck out their thumbs to catch rides, even though it didn't work too good no more. The hitchers and the drivers were both convinced the other one was going to kill them, but I still gave it a shot. I figured, worst come to worst, I'd just wind up giving another blowjob.

I think most of the cars were going too damned fast to even see me there, and there wasn't much space to pull over on that side of the road. Then this old pickup came along in the right lane, going even less than the speed limit. It pulled over, and I ran up to it and took a look at the driver. He didn't look too dangerous. Maybe a free blowjob, but I didn't think he was going to kill me, so I got in.

"How'd you get way out here," he asked me, "middle of noplace? Oh, wait, there's that so-called scenic bullshit 'cross the road. You got drove out here to do some nasties, and he didn't even want to bother to take you back where he found you. Right?"

Well, he was right, so I said, "Yeah. I never done it before. I really didn't know what to ask for."

He asked me what I'd got for it, and I told him a corned beef and pastrami sandwich with cole slaw and Russian dressing and a ginger ale, and he turned his head and took a good look at me. "You did pretty good," he told me. "Going rate for a blowjob these days is ten bucks, on account of all the competition, and your sandwich and soda probably cost him more than twenty."

He asked me where I was going. I told him where, and he said he'd drive me home. And I didn't have to blow him. He had better ideas, but I didn't get to hear about those until a while later. His name, he said, was "Carl," but I thought it must have been Carlos really, and he was wearing a button that said he was a union man. We didn't have much union men left, except for the cops and a few of the older teachers, but Carl was a union trucker. The Teamsters were still hanging on, somehow.

I guess I told him my whole life story in the fifteen minutes or so it took to get me home. I told him how I was thirteen, and my name was Rico, and how my Dad got himself killed so me and Mom could have the insurance, and how we was trying to live five years on what people who still had decent jobs blew through in one and still felt pinched. And how I'd let the rich fucker pick me up because I was hungry.

"Well," he told me, "I can see why he wanted you. You're a really cute kid."

"No I'm not," I answered him. "I'm way small for my age, and I'm skinny, and I don't even have hair on my dick yet."

Maybe I said more than I had to. He took a look at me, and gave me a grin. "I was like that when I was thirteen, but I think I grew up okay. How do I look now?"

I had to admit, he looked pretty good. He wasn't all that tall, but five-ten, five-eleven isn't too bad -- and he had kind of a nice body, like maybe he worked out. I don't mean big muscles, but kind of compact, with no belly or nothing like that. And he had one of those handsome Latino faces, with black hair and dark eyes and a straight nose -- you know. I'm at least half Latino myself, but I think my Dad was maybe part French or Italian.

Well, I can't ask my Dad no more, and if I asked Mom, she'd just start crying.

We were about a block off the highway when he pulled over and pointed to an apartment building. "I live there," he said. "Second floor. Apartment 2F. Will you remember that?"

I said sure, because a friend of mine lived up on five, and it was only a few blocks from where Mom and me lived.

"Well, I'm driving a long haul for the next four days, but I'll be back on Friday. Come by after school, and I'll make you a nice supper. And you won't have to blow me for it. We can just talk some more."

I said yes, but I thought maybe I wouldn't. If he didn't want a blowjob, how did I know what the fuck he wanted. I knew what I didn't want. I didn't want a new dad.

..........

I saw my friend Jerry in school the next day, and told him about the rich guy and the sandwich. Jerry is darker than me, but still pretty nice looking, and he had been sucking cock a couple of years by then, so I didn't have to be embarrassed.

"What kind of sandwich?" he wanted to know. I told him.

"The big thick one? Shit, that has to cost maybe twenty-five bucks! That fucker must have been really rich!"

Then I told Jerry about Carl the trucker.

"Yeah, he wants you to suck him off. Probably wants to get up your ass too. But he sounds like one of those guys who only like it if they can tell themselves you do it because you love them. Do you love him?"

"Shit," I said, "I only met him for maybe fifteen minutes. And I don't want a new dad."

"He don't want to be your dad," Jerry said. "Dads don't usually fuck their sons. He wants to be your boyfriend. Just go there Friday, and you'll see I'm right."

I didn't want a new dad. Did I want a boyfriend? I didn't think so. Hell, I didn't even want a girlfriend.

I would see how I felt on Friday.

(More to come from heedon@tormail.org )