Warning, this story may contain explicit descriptions of sexual acts between boys of various ages and/or men and boys. If this is not to your tastes, please leave now.
The author retains copyrights to the story.
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By Chris Carr
©1999
The banter getting a little raucous, Keone watched as a couple of the boy's started fighting over the game. Aw shit, here they go doing all that fightin again, he lamented. The disagreement escalated exponentially out of hand in a matter minutes and Keone watched terrified as one of the boys suddenly produced a gun.
Yelling at the other boy, the one with the gun breathed out threats, enraged, and then there was a loud explosion, scaring the shit out of Keone. Paralyzed, he watched in horror, time suspended in slow motion, as the other boy clutched his heart, his eyes bulged in a ghastly expression. A deafening silence fell over the group as the boys watched the wounded boy gurgle blood, a big hole in his chest. Then, every eye following, the boy staggered against the wall, sliding down it, a trail of blood covering the wall in his wake. It took everything in Keone to not scream at the gory site, his heart pealing like church bells. Instantly, boys scattered in every direction. Aware that his life was in grave danger, Keone broke into a sprint too.
Running pell-mell across the park, Keone never looked back, the image of the mortally wounded boy hounding him. Southwest park was a huge park with several sections, too many between Keone and his house for him tonight. Halfway across the park he turned toward the nearest boulevard, hoping to shave some time off his flight home. The sound of police sirens, blaring down the boulevard alarmed him, however, causing him to reverse his direction. They cain't be coming 'cause of the shooting already, he reasoned. Figuring the sirens were just coincidental, he changed direction again, this time heading for the boulevard by means of a parking lot.
At the parking lot, Keone noticed several cars parked there. What the fuck so many cars doing here this time of night, he pondered? Slowing, he ducked behind a growth of bushes rather than run haphazard into the parking lot. Better safe than sorry, he deduced. Hiding behind the bushes, he watched as transactions of a strange nature appeared to be transpiring between the people in the cars and those in the park.
A youth no older than Keone, stood off from the parking lot as another guy approached him. The two chatted for a minute or two, then exited to a thicket opposite Keone's position. Cocking his head to see, Keone wondered what the hell the two men could be going there for. Must be selling drugs, he concluded. Another man motioned from his car to another boy, this one about 17. The boy looked around cautiously, then approached his car. They chatted through the driver's window, the 17 year old finally walking around to the passenger side and jumping in.
Mesmerized, Keone totally forgot that he was fleeing a murder scene. When the door to the car opened, the dome light came on, illuminating the boy's face. Keone strained to make it out, but the man hastily turned the light out, looking around suspiciously. From where he was, he couldn't hear what they were saying, be he had a pretty good line of sight on what they were doing.
Another car pulled up, and a man got out. Walking from the parking lot, he trekked up a small grass-covered hill adjacent the parking lot, toward a bathroom at the top. There's another bathroom up there, Keone thought, surprised? What the fuck is this place?
Looking back to the car, Keone observed that the kid seemed to be absent. Or was he? Movement in the car riveted his attention on the proceedings. Momentarily, he would see what he supposed was the boy's head, appear and disappear over the dashboard. From the position of the boy's head and the way his head was moving, Keone could only surmise one thing… this SOB was giving the older guy a blow job!! Oh MY GOD! These faggots is up here gettin busy with each other! Is that what them ho's was talkin' 'bout?
Dumbfounded, Keone slumped onto the wet grass. The thought that a boy was slobbering on the hard dick of some stranger a few feet away from him was really fucking with his head. Let alone what it was doing to his dick! Sitting on the grass Keone found the shock of witnessing a murder, coupled with the unbridled sex rampant about him overwhelming. Against his will, his suppressed teen sex drive started taking over. His dick hardening, Keone was drawn into the actions occurring around him, despite the murder he'd just witnessed.
Hotter than ever, he started for the bathroom atop the hill. Circling to the back of the lighted bathroom, he slid along the wall, stopping at the open door. Holding his breath, he listened, faint sounds trickling out. Erotic sounds. Familiar sounds. His curiosity insurmountable, he dared to peek inside, excited.
Nothing could've prepared him for what he was seeing! Right there, in plain sight, a boy was kneeling on the bathroom floor, a hard dick in his mouth. The man supplying the long tube steak was moaning and saying things as he ran his dick in and out of the boy's mouth. Although the sight of another boy, swinging on a dick was totally unexplainable to him, it wasn't only what they were doing but who was doing it that nearly floored him. The boy kneeling on the floor before the other man was La Vel!!! TOUGH, GANGBANGING, GIRL FUCKING, BIG-MOUTH, LA VEL!
Clearly within earshot now, Keone could hear the words the man was barking at La Vel.
"Yeah, nigga, suck that dick! You like that dick, huh? Yeah, open that mouth, bitch!" Moving to stand directly in the door, Keone stared, aghast at the two engaged in hot sex. The man looked up, noticing Keone and said,
"You want some of this big dick, boy?" La Vel looked up and, noticing Keone, his face dropped, his countenance displaying utter embarrassment. Keone looked at La Vel for a couple of seconds then, shaking his head in contempt, broke into a run again. This time he didn't stop until he was locked in his room at his house.
XVIII.
The loud blast of a backfiring engine, sputtering down his street, bolted Keone annoyingly upright the following afternoon. His head jerking around the room, he reigned his disoriented thoughts in, calming himself. It was just a backfire. An unwanted realization seeped into his consciousness from his midsection. Oh no! Not again!! Throwing the covers back, Keone gawked at his dripping wet boxers, his mind fighting to refute what his eyes were reporting. Motha Fuck!
Cum running down his thighs, Keone strained to recall if he'd indeed had the dream again. Maybe this one was about something else. Slowly, the memories returned. He remembered Malik again, his long, hard dick, pressed against his quavering boy cheeks, threatening. When he recalled the boy's dick prying his virgin ass open, his own dick leaped in his wet boxers, eventually growing until it was poking through the opening. Neglected for so long, the sight of his dick, thrashing out his boxers, was both foreign and erotic at the same time. The bulbous, angry red head had lunged through the foreskin and lay bare, wet and hard before him. Knowing that if he'd touched it, it would've sent tremendous sensations through his body, he ignored it, jumping out of bed.
Trudging to the bathroom his thoughts troubled him. Why I keep dreamin 'bout Malik fuckin me? I can't fucking believe it! I shoot off more cum dreamin 'bout Malik fuckin my ass than I do humpin a girl!
Snatching his dripping wet boxers off, he turned on the shower. A fierce pounding at his back door startled him. Oh shit! Who the hell is that?
Quickly wiping as much cum off as he could, he grabbed his bathrobe and headed for the door. Rashawn greeted him through the glass, a handful of CD's in his hand. Shit! I forgot all 'bout he was 'spose to be coming over today! Opening the door, he pulled his robe tight about him.
"Hey Rashawn," he said, anxiously.
"A'ight Keone."
His mind occupied with the CD's he was bringing, Rashawn hadn't looked at the boy yet. Stepping into the kitchen he spoke, looking up at him.
"I brought those… Yo! What the hell happened to you?"
"What?" Keone ruffled.
"You look like shit!"
Could Rashawn be smelling his cum? Unnerved, Keone shrugged defensively. Running his hand through his hair, he realized he probably did look rather bad. His hair was a mess, his face was probably a horror, and he hadn't had a shower so he probably reeked, too.
"I just got up, man, and I really need to take a shower. Thanks for the CD's, though," Keone rushed, ushering the boy to the door. He was in no mood to sit and chat today.
"But I was gon' show you which ones I really liked," Rashawn protested, Keone's hand in his back.
Slowing, Keone looked at the boy.
"Oh! Well… I really gotta take a shower, though."
"That's a'ight, I'll wait."
Clutching his bathrobe to him, Keone stared at the boy wishing he'd leave. Relenting, he left for the bathroom, anxious to wash the sticky mess off.
Standing under the water, Keone replayed the murder from last night, again. Shuddering, his mind summoned the image of the poor boy, a hole in his chest, blood gurgling from his mouth. The hideous picture had tormented Keone most of the night, exhaustion the only reason he'd eventually got a few hours sleep. Throughout the night he kept pounding his brain, trying to figure out how his life had gotten so fucked up. Every time a siren sounded, he panicked, certain they were coming for him. He kept trying to remember if those fools had even noticed he was there, but could never assure himself they hadn't.
What if someone saw me and they break when the police question them? And what if they blame the murder on me and I end up in that detention center again, this time forever? And what if… Stop it!
Passing the soap over his abdomen, Keone was reluctant to continue washing further down. He couldn't bare another shower with an erection he intended to nothing with. His resolve to not jack off was weakening. And that wasn't all that was getting out of whack. Having witnessed a murder, a foolish murder, served to really drive home the point that he wasn't like his 'friends'. Part of him was actually relieved. Hanging out with that crowd, he'd come to hate himself. All of the loafing, frontin', and violence just wasn't him. And stumbling upon La Vel was just the icing on the cake! Punk ass, faggot! Nigga was suckin on a dick! Always tryin' to be all hard, I can't believe I was tryin to run with them punks. Damn, no wonder that faggot was trying to show me his dick all the time. Add to that his recent fucking fiasco, and he knew he couldn't keep fooling himself about girls either. It just didn't make any sense. Why couldn't a wet pussy make him nut up fo' days?
Remembering that Rashawn was waiting for him, he ceased his dawdling, vigorously lathering himself up. And Rashawn. What's that all 'bout? How come he keep hangin 'round? Why don't he just go away? Like clockwork, the very thought of Rashawn, the slope of his full ass, his tight body, was enough to make his dick rise, arching from his body. More troubled than ever, Keone rinsed and stepped out the shower.
Dressing in nothing but boxers again, Keone entered the living room. Rashawn sat, lounging on the couch, watching the TV. Looking up at the scantily clad boy, he wondered why Keone kept parading around half dressed in front of him.
"You look better."
Keone said nothing, glaring as he took a seat across from him.
Oblivious, Rashawn continued. "This is that CD I was tellin' you 'bout," he gestured, handing a case to the boy. His mind not on the moment, Keone handed it back to him.
"You ain't gon' play it?" Rashawn questioned.
"Don't really feel like it right now." Looking at the boy, Rashawn perceived he was in a bitchy mood. Saddened that Keone wasn't himself these days, he pressed on, hoping to cheer him.
"Ok, but I know you gon' like this one." Extending another CD to him he was disappointed when he didn't even reach for it.
"You alright?" he petitioned.
"Yeah, just don't feel like bein' bothered right now," Keone snapped. Studying the boy's face, Rashawn wondered what was wrong.
"You still comin' Saturday?"
"I don't know!" Keone growled.
"Dang! What's wrong wit' you?"
"Ain't nothin' wrong wit' me but you!"
Retracting, Rashawn mumbled, "What'd I do?"
"Why you keep hangin' 'round me, man?"
"I thought you was my friend…"
"Friend! You don't even KNOW me, nigga!"
Wounded, Rashawn countered, "Why you actin' like this, Keone! Everybody that care 'bout you, you keep pushin' them away!"
"Care 'bout me? How you care 'bout me, Rashawn?"
"'Cause I thought we was friends."
Sullen, Keone looked away.
"Man, why don't you just leave?" he hissed.
"That the way you want it?"
"YEAH! That's the way I want it!"
"You gon' just push everybody out yo' life?"
"Why don't you just LEAVE!"
"You think I don't know?"
Speechless, Keone stared at the boy.
"You think that's all people care 'bout, what happened wit' you and that dude. That shit don't make no difference to me, Keone. I just wanted to be friends with you," he said, dejected.
Keone was crushed. Watching the boy gathering his CD's, it wasn't until he'd gotten to the door before he jumped up. Placing his hand on the boy's shoulder he said,
"Yo, I'm sorry, B. You don't have to leave." Rashawn turned to face him and gazing into his clear brown eyes, Keone felt his dick move. Rashawn was more radiant now than when he'd seen him naked in the locker room. Such beautiful skin, and immaculately styled hair. The boys stood, Rashawn with his back to the door and Keone just inches from his face, looking. Keone's dick moved of it's own volition, now, raising higher and higher in his boxers. Gazing at the boy's soft, crimson red lips, Keone felt a rush of feelings wash over him that was insurmountable. Moving closer, he observed that Rashawn didn't react, his eyes locked on Keone's. Instinct taking over, Keone felt himself moving closer and closer…