Alone by Tom Cup
Copyright 2001 by the Paratwa Partnership: A Colorado Corporation. All rights reserved.
No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, except in the case of reviews, without written permission from the Paratwa Partnership, Inc, 354 Plateau Drive, Florissant, CO 80816
This is a fictional story involving youth/youth and adult/youth sexual relationships. If this type of material offends you, please do not read any further. This material is intended for mature adult audiences. Names, characters, locations and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
This story is part of the Tom Cup Short Story Galley
Please visit the member's area of the Tom Cup Library for Chapters 1-5 of "A Place Called Home"; Chapter 10 of "Angel"; Chapter 5 of The Lion of "In Memory of Steve". Tommy -- The Return -- Chapter 1 has been added as well as the new Short Story Gallery. I will also be adding a new story, "Stephen Miller's Journal" for your enjoyment. The Writer's Club is now open!
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By Tom Cup
Friday night, 10:15 p.m. Movie's just let out. I don't remember what I saw. I just wanted to be around people. Pretending I'm on a date. Pass through the doors to the cool night air. Damp, glistening, lights shining, cars leaving. Must have rained. Deep in my own thoughts; wish I had someone to share my life, a day, a date with.
"Excuse me, sir."
I barely heard the soft falsetto dancing on the wind.
"Excuse me, sir?"
I was awakened and turned. A boy, thirteen, maybe fourteen, jeans hugging his hips, shirt tucked in neatly, hair rich brown and coffered, eyes hopefully unsure. He has my attention.
"I was wondering if you had an extra couple of dollars. I wanted to see a movie."
I find my voice, "It's late for you to be out at the movies isn't?"
"Yes sir," he answers politely, "but mom works the night shift and I hate being at home all that time by myself. I used my dinner money to catch a bus down here. I was pumping people's gas over at the gas station for a little while but the manager said I wasn't allowed cause I didn't work for the company and...."
Voice trails off; it's a beautiful voice. Boy's not use to begging. He intrigues me more.
"What about your dad?"
"Don't have one. Just me and mom."
I look at my watch, 10:25, really to late for the kid to be out here alone. No money, no way home.
"Come on," I offer. "I'll take you home."
He hesitates. Looks back at the theater. Reaches in his pocket and pulls out whatever money he made pumping gas. Not enough. I hear him hurrying up behind me. Cute kid I observe once more. Driving him home beats driving the streets, alone.
Don't take long to get there by car: 20 minutes tops. I stop at the curb of the apartment complex. The kid thanks me but doesn't leave the car. He's looking down and thinking.
"Would you like to come in for awhile? It'd be OK, really. Mom won't be home till after 7:30 in the morning. I really don't like being alone."
I nod. What else do I have to do?
We make popcorn and gather pops. I sit on the couch and he in an armchair. I catch him watching me watching the T.V. Reruns of "I Love Lucy."
"Can I ask you something?"
"Sure," I answer.
"Could I sit with you?"
"Yeah," I answer absentmindedly. Kid can sit wherever he wants; free country, his house.
He sits close to me, leaning his head on my shoulder. Kid must me starved for attention. Oh hell, I put my arm around him. He nestles closer. His arms encircle my waist. His head lays on my chest. I can smell the fragrance of `Perk' shampoo mixed with a clean boyish aroma. He sighs. When was the last time anyone held this boy? When was the last time anyone held me?
Midnight. The boy is asleep in my arms. Time to go. I stir. He wakes, pulls me tightly to himself.
"Don't go," he begs, "Please."
Don't even know his name. Wasn't planning on staying. I run my hand through his hair. His eyes meet mine. I understand the look. I don't want to be alone either. He smiles his understanding and kisses my lips. I hold him and your lips part: tongues intertwine. He's hot, sweet, intoxicating.
"Don't go," he says standing and extending his hand, "Please". I take his hand and follow him to his bedroom.
Facing me his pant button is loosened, zipper slides down, jean fabric eases over his hips and he steps out of the pants. He steps forward, encouragingly, loosens my belt and pants. I complete the process and we both stand with pants removed. Together, watching the other's movement, shirts removed, socks, underpants, and we are nude. Stepping forward he hugs me, warm, soft, as comforting as fresh baked bread.
"Promise you won't go before six o'clock." He sets the bedside alarm and slides between the sheets. I join him. We kiss, his warm arms around my neck, our legs entwine; so soft save the wooden sticks between our legs.
"Promise," he whispers.
I promise and his tongue captures my mouth. My hands roam his soft, firm, mounds of flesh; hot, made hotter by the heat trapping covers. His penis finds mine, rubbing, pumping against each other. Mouths filled with each other's tongues. Hands cleave to each other's body. Don't want to let go. Don't want to go. If I go, I'll be alone.
We slow. Look into one another's eyes. Yes, we want the same thing. My hand caresses his face. He grabs it and guides it down to his waiting penis. So soft, hard, hot, pulsating. I stroke him slowly. He breathes deeply. Closes his eyes and lays back on the bed.
Withdrawing the covers, I study the object of his pleasure; vanilla with a cherry top, moist tip, and a gently curving shaft sloping down to an arch; sparse in brown. I take him into my mouth. He gasps in delight. He begins to pump his hips as my tongue and mouth slide over his rod, its tip, down again, warming him inside and out.
He moans his pleasure. His hands lay gently on my head, encouraging me. Our rhythm unites for a time, only for a time. He becomes frantic. His hips buck uncontrollably. I hold his ass to steady him.
Everything stops except the pulsating rod in my mouth. Its milk is hot, sweet, salty, satisfying. I drink until the cup is empty. He moans and begins playing in my hair. I release him and slide up the length of his body to look into his eyes. The sheets drink my release. He's smiling. We kiss. I lay back with him in my arms. Not alone anymore.
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