Date: Wed, 22 Jun 2005 21:34:08 -0700
From: Joseph Farrin <bigblaise@hotmail.com>
Subject: A BOY NAMED MORGAN

It's Monday evening.  I'd been in Denver over the weekend and was
spending a needed, quiet evening at home.  It's warm, the house had
been closed up during the day, so I slung the windows open, and walked
out onto the porch with a Scotch and soda that I'd poured into an opaque,
plastic glass for the benefit of any nosey neighbors.  However, I've just
lived in the house two weeks and hadn't met any neighbors, as yet, to
know if they're nosey or not.

The house is a small, L-shaped structure and looks like a Victorian cottage
on the outside but the previous owner, a bachelor, had remodeled the
interior into, essentially, a one-room space.  A large, squared off arch
opens the living room into the kitchen-eating area and the sleeping area is
separated from the living room only by a new, freestanding fireplace with
an opening on each side. A bath and a walk-in closet fill the back corner of
the house between the bedroom and the kitchen. It reminds me of a
luxurious apartment.

The porch, too, is L-shaped and quite narrow, which is probably the
reason a porch swing is located diagonally to the corner of the house.  I
love the swing.  I'd never had one before and enjoy sitting in it sideways,
in the evenings and looking at life go by on the street, which isn't much.
The house is on a quiet, residential street.

Tonight, I noticed a boy going up the street on a bicycle; he had on soiled,
frayed, cut-off blue jeans, worn Nike's and a white baseball cap -- that's
all.  He was sitting straight up, right hand on the handlebars and the left
one tucked into his crotch.  He also had an unlit cigarette in his mouth.
About ten minutes later he rode by going the other way.  I went into the
kitchen, mixed another drink and picked up a package of cigarettes, my
lighter and an ashtray.

About thirty minutes later there he was again, going up the street, unlit
cigarette and his hand still in his crotch (I could have sworn he was
squeezing his dick through his shorts).  When he returned this time I
guess he saw me from the lights in the living room and my lighted
cigarette. It's getting dark, so that's why I'm guessing.

The kid steers into my walkway, kicks the kickstand down to support the
bike and asks,

"Can I get a light from you?"

I toss him the lighter, he sits down on the porch floor, facing me, with his
back to the street and resting against a porch column.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome.  This is the fourth time you've gone by."

"Yea, I was supposed to meet a girl up in the next block."

"Your steady?"

"I guess you could call her that.  She's not really a girlfriend but she
does put out steady."

"From what you say, I guess you've had her before."

"Along with a few other guys, if you know what I mean?   She can't get
enough of it."

He bummed another cigarette, asked what I was drinking and asked if he
could have a beer. I asked him how old he was and he replied "17".  I told
him that was too young.  He said he could really use one and followed me
into the house.  As I mixed another drink for myself and got a beer out of
the fridge, I heard him taking a leak in the bathroom and go back out onto
the porch before I did.

He was seated at the opposite end of the swing from where I'd been, one
leg bent up and resting on the back of the swing and the other draped
over the edge -- foot on the floor.

"Is there room for you, If not, I'll move?"  I sat with both feet on the
floor, head turned sideways so I could look at him.  He wasn't wearing
underwear and was showing a beefy looking cock sticking out one leg of his
jeans.  I assumed he was unaware that he was exposing himself to me.

I asked him his name, he replied "Morgan."

"Is that your first name?"

"Yea. What's yours?"

"I go by my initials -- CJ."

"You haven't lived in this house long, have you?"

"Two weeks, plus or minus."

"Where did you move from?"

"Phoenix, that's why I sit on the porch evenings.  This time of night in
Phoenix, it would be 110 degrees. Where are you from?"

"North part of Denver.  I ran away from home and now I'm living with a
couple of older guys, but I think they're going to kick my ass out
tomorrow."

"Why?"

"They say I'm stealing stuff when they're away?"

"Are you?"

"Shit no, man.  I've got so many troubles already that I sure as fuck don't
need anymore."

"Where will you move to?"

"Don't know.  What time is it?"

"Eight thirty."

"Can I use your phone?"

"Let me get my cell phone. It's just inside the door."  I didn't especially
want him going into the house again.

I guess he called his girl; he didn't say anything but handed the phone
back to me instead.  I was aware he was a little upset.

"No answer?"

"I can't understand it."

"Maybe she's flying baker?"

"What does that mean?"

"It's a navy term I heard from an ex-sailor in college.  It means she's
having her period.  A red signal flag in the navy mean's danger -- like if
ammunition was being located on the ship.'

"That's funny!  I'm hoping the cunts not knocked up and thinks I did it."

"Didn't you wear protection?"

"Yea but shit happens. Right now I'm so fucking horny I can't even think
about it.  You ever get that horny?

"Sure."

"Did you have a steady in Phoenix?"

"No, I'm not particularly attracted to girls."

He didn't comment. He just looked at me as though I might be contagious,
tipped his beer can straight up and emptied it.  Placed it on the porch
floor,
walked down the steps, got on his bicycle and rode off toward downtown.

I was a little miffed and yet, at the same time, a little hurt.  Then I
smiled
and thought to myself, "Some people".  Next, I felt guilty.  After all he
was
just a kid I shouldn't have asked him anything about his girlfriend, he was
only 18.  Finally I just forgot it.

Chapter 2-

The weekend in Denver, plus the moving and unpacking, plus the anxiety
of a new job must have gotten the best of me. I had a quiet week and
stayed at home every evening until Friday when I decided to go out to a
bar.  I was sure the town was too small to have a gay bar, so I went to an
ordinary looking one that I'd seen driving back and forth to work. I guessed
correctly that it was more a billiard parlor with a beer license than it was
a
bar, but there were guys of all ages in there -- none of which I picked up.

I was home by 10 PM and damn near jumped out of my skin after I parked
the pickup truck in the garage off the alley, walked across the back yard
and started up the rear steps of the porch.  The minute my foot touched
the bottom step, a voice said, "C J, it's Morgan".

"What are you doing here?"

"I need help."  His voice helped me locate him; he was laying on the
swing.  I unlocked the door, reached in, turned on a lamp close to the
door, and helped him in.  He had a black eye -- completely swollen shut,
swollen lips, bruises on one side of his face and rib cage along abrasions
on his bare back extending from his neck to his belt line.  He complained
of being stiff and sore all over.

I took him to the bathroom, had him sit on the toilet seat, got him a wet
washcloth wrapped around some ice cubes for his eye, got out a first aid
kit and administered to his other wounds as best I could.

"Do you want to go to emergency?"

"No."

"What happed to you?

"I went home about two hours ago, walked in the back door and one of the
guys I was living with beat me up, dragged me out the door and down the
steps and threw my clothes out after me."

"Where are they now?"

"In a garbage bag. I drug it about 3 houses down the alley so I can go
back for it without arousing the dog."

"How did you get here?"

"I walked after I'd rested for a while in the alley.  Can we go get my stuff
now?"

"Where's your bicycle?"

"It wasn't mine."

I wasn't too sure about getting his stuff but he was worried.  He directed
me to a part of town I'd never been in -- a run-down area between a strip,
commercial area and a railroad-switching yard.  In fact the alley was
separated from the tracks by only a high chain link fence.  I drove down
the alley, he knew were he'd left the bag, I stopped a little past it,
jumped
out and threw the bag into the back of the pickup.

Morgan said he hadn't eaten all day, his lips were swollen, but he
managed a dish of ice cream and I told him he could spend the night but
he'd have to sleep with me because the sofa was brand new and I didn't
have enough bedding unpacked to make it into a bed.

I drew him a bathtub of tepid water, put more ointment on his back, loaned
him a T-shirt to wear, as it did get a little chilly nights, and gave him a
couple of Tylenol.  We hadn't been long, he on his side because of his
sore back and me on my back, when he began to cry.

"I really fucked up, C J.  And I can't go home."

I turned toward him, being careful not to get too close to his back, put my
arm on the side of his rib-cage and said,

"I'm sorry Morgan, try to go to sleep and we'll work out something in the
morning."

He pulled my arm further around him and finally went to sleep.  When I
was sure he was asleep I allowed myself to drop off, too.  He slept through
the night.  I woke once and pulled a blanket over us.

I woke at 7AM, my usual time to get up. I made coffee, had a bowl of
cereal with some blackberries on it then goofed around waiting for him to
wake up.  Around 10 o'clock I was getting a little worried that the whole
day was going to waste, so I left him a note telling him I'd gone to the
supermarket and would be back by 11:15.  At least, I'd get the weekly
grocery shopping over with, if nothing else.

When I got back, he was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of
coffee, still in my T-shirt and bare the rest of the way down.

"How do you feel?"

"Like shit."

"I don't doubt it.  I think you took quite a beating.  Do you think you can
eat
anything?"

"I don't know, I'm hungry but my mouth hurts."

"Why don't I fix something that's soft and won't require a lot of chewing?
How about scrambled eggs and pancakes?"

"Yea, please.  I like both of them."  He ended up eating 4 scrambled eggs
and 5 pancakes.

"Still stiff?"

"Even more than last night."

"Want another warm bath?"

"Would you care if I went back to bed?"

"That's OK with me.  Let me put some more ointment on your back and
give you a clean T-shirt first."

"Can you give me two more of those pills, too?"

"Sure, and I'll leave a glass of ice water in a saucer on the nightstand.
If
I'm gone when you wake up, I'll be right back.  I've driven past the library
and know where it is.  Think I'll go and get a library card and check out
some mysteries."

I was back by 3 o'clock. He was still asleep, uncovered. The only change
was his beefy cock was sticking out 6-inches from his body.  He had a
boner, his cockhead was huge and he looked like he was about ready to
pop his nuts.  Was he having a wet dream?  Needless to say, I took a
good look, went into the bathroom, dropped my pants to the floor and
jacked off.   It was 5PM when he came into the living room where I was
sitting in a lounge chair, already well into my book.  Was he ever going to
put on his jeans?

Chapter 3 --

I was wishing he'd go somewhere, even to his girlfriend's up the street.  At
the same time I was hoping he'd stay.  I was afraid, sooner or later that
I'd
try something with him and regret it.  He had no modesty.  It was as if he
was flaunting his goods.  He was driving me crazy parading around, naked
below the waist.  I didn't know how long I could refrain.


"You were really funny in bed last night, CJ."

"What do you mean, you slept like a rock."

"I did, but you kept waking me up."

"How?"

"You'd reach around me and wrap your hand around my dick, I'd move it
and you'd grab it again and say "Ohoooo!"  You seemed to like it so much
I just let you hold it.  I knew you were asleep."

"Oh Morgan, I'm so sorry, really I am."

"Hey, don't be.  It's OK.  I thought it was funny.  I didn't tell you to
upset
you, so let's change the subject.  Can I have a beer?"

"I suppose you really need one, as you said Monday night."

"I really do, even more than Monday night!"

I told him it was pretty early to start drinking but maybe we could eat
early
as I'd bought a frozen Lasagna thinking it would be easy for him to eat.  I
was going to have a salad, but he could skip that if he couldn't manage it.

He said it sounded great, I came back from the kitchen with a beer and a
Scotch on the rocks, in a clear glass this time.  I sure as hell was going
to
draw the line against his going out on the porch half naked.

Having an early drink was something I shouldn't have agreed to.  I don't
know about you but the old saying about alcohol goes right to your head
doesn't apply to me -- in my case, it goes right to my prick and I think
Morgan and I had like problems in that respect.

Another one followed the first drink.  I brought back a dish full of cashews
with the second round.  Morgan couldn't eat them, the salt hurt his lip and
they did nothing to stem the high I was beginning to feel.

Morgan asked how long it would take the Lasagna to defrost?  I told him it
already was, I'd just put it in the microwave so we could eat soon.  We had
a third round while we waited.

After dinner, we watched a movie on TV, me sitting on the sofa and him in
a lounge chair by the door.  He asked for another drink and when the
movie ended.  I said I thought we'd had about as many as we could
handle.  He said, we weren't going anyplace, I wouldn't be driving so one
more because he wanted to ask me something.

When I came back he'd moved to the sofa and motioned me to sit down
beside him.

"CJ, do you remember when I started crying last night and you said we
would discuss my problem today?"

"Sure I do, but you've slept so much we didn't get to it, did we."

"Can I stay with you for a while?"

"Jesus, that's a statement not a discussion.  Morgan, you left very hastily
last Monday night when I told you I wasn't attracted to women. Then you
told me I was fooling with you in bed last night.  That should give you a
clue.  I don't think I could be trusted with a young, good-looking boy like
you."

"Do you really think I'm good-looking?"

"You know damn well you are."

"So are you.  And I wasn't altogether truthful with you about last night."

"What do you mean by that?"

"When you grabbed hold of my cock in your sleep, I didn't move it away.
You weren't the only one that liked holding it. I liked your holding it. I
got
so hard that I reached around and grabbed yours.  It was so big and so
hard; just holding it excited me so much I began to shake all over."

"I thought you only liked girls?"

"I thought so too.  I'd fooled around with boys my age but doing it with a
man was so different, so exciting. I can't really explain it other than what
I've just said.  But this afternoon I started dreaming about you and had a
wet dream."

"A wet dream doesn't mean we'd be OK living in the same, small house."

"Can I show you, instead of telling you about the dream, before you say
no."

Before I could respond he took me by the hand and led me out onto the
porch.  It was now dark. His back was still sore but he sat on the very
edge of the swing, legs spread apart and his teenage cock fully erect,
slightly visible from the light in the living room, reached up and put a
hand
on my shoulder.  I knew he wanted me to get on my knees.  He rubbed his
cock across my lips, I opened them and, moving the swing back and forth
with his feet, ever so slowly, ever so gently, he fucked my mouth. It soon
became wet but he didn't change his rhythm.  As the swing moved
forward, his cock pushed deeper into my mouth.  As the swing move back,
his cock moved out until just my lips covered his cockhead. Then, saliva
started dripping out the sides of my mouth. My mouth was so full of it. His
cock grew even bigger and harder.  He groaned and pulled my head clear
down until I felt his pubic hairs on my lips as his teen age, love juice
poured into my mouth with every throb of his cock.

He stopped the motion of the swing and I held his cock in my mouth until it
became flaccid.

"I'd do you, too, CJ, but my lips are too sore."

"Well I guess you'll have to stay until they're healed and we've had time to
do your laundry.  I like your going half naked in the house, but it might
lead
to trouble if you went walking outside without pants and, as you said, you
already have enough fucking troubles."

We went back inside, closed and locked the door and after I had dressed
some of his bruises, put more ointment on his back and loaned him
another T-shirt we turned out the lights and went to bed.

"CJ, my mouth hurts too much to kiss you.  Would you kiss me someplace
other than on my lips?

Before we cuddled to go to sleep, I kissed every thing from his throat to
the top of his head, except for his lips and his black eye.

Just before he dropped off he said,

"CJ, do you remember my telling you the girl up the street just couldn't get
enough.  Can you promise you'll give me enough?

"With what you've got between your legs, I promise and I also guarantee
you that will not become a problem.  Do you want some right now?"

"Maybe later, if one of us wakes up and has to use the john."

"Or if I grab your dick in your sleep again."

"That would definitely trigger it.  We might as well go to sleep now; I'm
sure everything is going to turn out just the way we've discussed it."

THE END -- THANKS FOR READING MY STORY