Date: Fri, 24 Apr 2020 15:28:39 -0400
From: MC VT
Subject: Cullen Gay Adult-Youth

Cullen
 ©MCVT2017  April 19, 2020
MCVT2017@gmail.com

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100% fiction, adult content, Mb.
=============================================================================

Late autumn tapped his forehead against the window.  Clinky-plink rattle
till I leaned a book against the loose pane and hurried to light the stove,
heat the water.  Cold denim rubbed up warm legs; clean socks.  Clean socks.
He washed them or they wouldn't have been washed in weeks.  Felt good on my
feet, then inside cold, still-damp shoes.  Wet from being out in the first
cold rain yesterday.

"Still the fucking bum... didn't deserve anything so beautiful, so brash as
him."  At the sink I changed that tape, my "just a bum" song would become a
dirge for months if I let it.

Cold water filled my cupped palms.  Icy, hard jolt of another day
beginning.  Scratchy stubble.  Next splash carries a few humane drops,
third warmer, I need to shave.  Fleshy horror in the mirror gets scraped of
grey bristles again.

Water's hot; coffee, oatmeal.

Is he hungry, is he warm?

Stop thinking.  I'm no one's family; neither is he.  Just another of the
tribeless folk.

...

Spotted him wandering in town, then by the highway as I left the store.
Stepped slowly toward the asphalt with only a drawstring bag over his
shoulder -- almost pretty boy; around sixteen.  Greasy hair, dirty clothes.
Turned to face the traffic and lifted his hand, thumb raised.

Turned around, neared, slowed beside him, "Where `ya headed?"

"South--Petaluma."

"Almost dark now.  If you need a few days of work, I'll pay cash, then take
you down to Santa Rosa."

He eyed everything in the jeep, especially me.  "Yeah--work where?"

"Up on the ridge, `bout three miles from the highway."

He nodded.  "What kinda work?"

"Split wood, replace a few shingles, whitewash--outside work."

"Just you?"

"Yeah."  He glanced over his shoulder to see boxes of supplies behind the
seat.

Thirty minutes later, "I thought you lived three miles from one-oh-one."

"The road turns back on itself.  Look behind us."  Healdsburg at night lay
like a short stream of glitter along the highway.

...

I unloaded while the boy brought wood, pumped water.  Scrounged all the
kindling he could find nearby as darkness fell.  In the dim glow of a
kerosene lantern, he came in.  I heated the kettle, "Bring the tub off the
porch.  You stink."

He brought the galvanized oval tub, put two buckets of water in and I added
the warm water.  "Strip.  Clean up."  I brought soap and began with his
gritty, greasy hair.

About the time he stood to dry, I had a skillet full of food stewing.
Smelled great, he sniffed, looked.

Took his dirty clothes along with mine to the back porch.  "Drag the tub
here."  I dumped soap flakes in with the clothes and brought two more
buckets of water.  Only pointed to the tub and went back inside.  Heard him
scrubbing, cursing and rinsing the clothes, slapping them on the wooden
planks, throwing them over the railing.

When he came in, I pointed to the wardrobe; I got a good shot at his thin
body, completely smooth -- straight but for hips and ribs.  Pale,
specter-like, he edged toward the smell of tomatoes, peppers, and sausages
in only a long shirt.

"Hungry?"  More a statement from my libido than a question about his
appetite.

"Yeah."

...

We sat on my short, worn sofa with our dinner bowls on our laps, "What's
your name?"

"Cullen.  You?"

"Yussi."  I took my big slice of bread and put it in his almost-empty bowl,
"Where you from?"

"Up north--Selma."

"Salem?"

"No.  Selma.  Just over the state line."

"You look around sixteen."

"Almost."

"Work the truck stops?"

"Worked at the casino with Gil."

"Gil's still at River Rock?"

"Him and his wife.  She found us together."

I nodded. Gil fucked anything warm and half-wet with his short, red dick.
Weird-looking cock.  Gil was always fast; "fuck and run" kind of guy.
Speed-sex, what's the good in that?

"That's why I'm back on the road.  Gil was gonna buy me a ticket to
Frisco."

...

Dug in his bag, found a toothbrush and took a cup.  Went to the back porch,
came back in, leaned over the lamp to blow out the flame.  Gave him a
pillow, blanket and pointed to the short couch.  "Couch is kinda short, if
you want...."  I threw the sheets back and nodded toward the bed.

Thought I heard him say he'd rather work as the wind picked up and the
drafts in the cabin whistled.  I got up, found my jacket and threw it over
my head to keep warm.  Cullen came next to me wrapped in the blanket.
Brought his cold feet and nose.  His soap scent and the oils from my skin
exhaled from the sheets.  Smells sparked memories.  So hard, I turned away
to cold sheets.

Smelled my boy on him, hint of fried sausages, wood fire.  I had a boy, my
own boy, years ago.  Looked like me, and he was smart, learned everything
early.  Stayed near his mom, they abruptly left to parts unknown.  Only had
one photo of him, Pietro, my Pete.  Wonder what he looked like now as I
turned next to the boy in my bed.

Nose, lips grazed the short, fine hair on his neck; new, fresh, tender.
Clearly queer, unashamed.  Brave kid out alone.

...

Next morning, he was up early, ran to the porch to pee, taking my jacket
with him, "Raining--all the clothes are wet."  Grabbed the bowls to scrub
them.

"Bring them inside.  Build the fire up, put the kettle on."

Didn't get out of bed.  "C'mon, we'll get up when it's warm."

Surprised me when he got back in bed, cold, damp skin against mine.  He
threw the jacket over our heads, suddenly dark again.  Face near my
shoulder.  I turned to him.  Stroked along his cheek to feel his smooth
skin, girly-soft.  My thin lips puckered and touched his eyebrow.
"Thanks."

He didn't answer, but stayed close, chilled.  I wrapped my legs through
his.  Eyelashes flicked against my clavicle.  My arms wrapped his torso, I
pulled him closer.  Small, hard erection pressed against my groin, to the
side of my own rod.  Through the long shirt, he moved to hold me against
him.  Thin and bony under a worn flannel shirt, I rubbed, warming him,
savoring the feel.

Old tapes of my Pete played as I felt his tight muscles, thin bones -- I
could break him easily with a swift move.  I could have, and I imagined he
had tapes playing in his head, too.  Tapes of smiles, warm feelings, being
admired, fingers touching, moist lips and eyes.  Fingertips, bodies,
softest skin in warmest places.  Easy times, soothing, secret moments and
the sting of missing it all.

Trembled, imagining his memories.  I was ready.  My dick leaked, "Let me
fuck you?"  At least I'd learned to ask.

"Not now."  He turned his head, I felt tears, snot.

"Thinking about Gil?"

"Nah."  He dozed in my arms.

Didn't want to leave our cocoon, but heard the water boiling, the air was
warm.  Made oatmeal in cups, "Eat.  Rinse the cup for your coffee."  Ropes
on nails, the clothes hung like holiday garlands, "I'll make toast."

Bellies full, we found enough to wear outside to use the chainsaw.  He
rolled the logs down to the back of the house.  I chopped while he mixed
and swabbed whitewash carefully on the sheds.  Done for the morning, only
four more hours of daylight.  Scrubbed the skillet and all the dishes for
us thinking about kissing his eyebrows, the touch of his cold skin warming
with mine.

"What about the shingles?"  He asked, throwing the blanket and sheets back
over the bed.

"They're in the back shed."  We went outside to look at the roof, "You
afraid of heights?"

Got several patches done after we ate.  Sticky caulk, a few small nails and
got things in place enough to stop the leak until next summer.  I'd need a
new roof by then.  Threw cabbage, vegetables and canned ham in the pot,
started it boiling.  The boy took the dry laundry down, folded and put it
away neatly.  Jeans were still damp, turned them inside out.  He brought
the wash tub back in and heated water, started filling the tub.  "You
stink."

He sat on the couch and watched me undress, "You wanna fuck?"  He asked.

"Not now."  I threw his words back to him.

"Cost ya."  Oh, he wanted to deal.

"How much?"  I wouldn't pay, wouldn't force.  I did want.

"Five hundred."  Looking into my eyes, "Virgin."

"What about Gil?"

"Told you his wife came in.  Didn't have a chance."

"Pretty ass you got--too pricey for me."  I began scrubbing and glanced at
him watching me.  "Want a good time? Nice size, uncut, and it's your lucky
day, it's free."  Wagged my dick at him.  "I got sixty in cash to give you
after we finish repairing the pump house, and clean the fire break.  I'd
only want half of that for my devirginizing service, my work is guaranteed
or I'll do it over."  I winked at him.

"Sixty'll get me to Frisco, maybe LA."

"Catch the rabbit, I'll show you where.  Toss them a twenty and get out
where you want."

He didn't say anything, just watched me dry, dress.  Drug our dirty clothes
out in the tub and did our laundry.  Came back in to a big bowl of dinner.
I lit the lamp.  He sat next to me wolfing down his food.

Brought my book, the papers.  "What are you reading?"

"County's coming about wildfire prevention.  I have to terrace and put the
right plants around the cabin for about a hundred feet."  We talked for a
while about using a back hoe, several boulders, keeping as much of the land
intact as possible.

"Leaving after we're done with the last two tasks."  He brought more water
and wood for morning.  Wind picked up and I put the book back against the
window pane and got into bed.  Soon Cullen was next to me in his underwear
and socks.

Put my jacket over our heads again.  Felt him playing with himself, facing
away.  I turned to rub my lips on his neck, feel those soft hairs again.  I
nipped and slipped my hand inside his briefs, caressing his ass, then
between his cheeks.  No resistance; my thumb went to his ass hole.  Rubbed,
pressing; he shoved back against me.

Dry; roughly I shoved my thumb inside him and pressed while he moaned,
"Damn!"

He kept rubbing himself so I didn't stop, I gave him what he needed.  He
kept slowing, seemed overwhelmed, sweating and breathing hard.  Light sweat
as he worked straight toward his release.  He came and pulled his hips away
popping my thumb out of him.  Kinda cute how he came so hard, I pulled him
back against me and kissed his neck.  Reached down to find he couldn't
shoot.  Slit, sheets, dry.  Sweet, he wasn't almost sixteen....

That's all.  He slept.  My old dog wanted a piece of that tight ass.  I'd
wait.  He was living the horniest time of his life and had a new toy to
play with.  Eventually he'd want some of me.  Maybe.

...

As we finished our breakfast, the sound of a motor drew us out of the
house.  County crew arrived.  Didn't take long for us to discuss what
needed to happen. I was about to lose all the shade I had in the summer.
Had to clear out around the pond, mow around the area, clear out the
underbrush.  Cullen stayed on the porch while we walked around.  He washed
the sheets, aired the blankets.  When the men left, I gave him a tube of
caulk and pointed at the window.  "Quiet the panes.  They rattle, keep me
awake."

...

Days were short, I went in and started cleaning, cooking.  The boy brought
wood and water, ladled out dinner, "Leaving tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

I got plenty of work if you want a few extra bucks.  Got a pirogue, need
some help cleaning around the pond, if you want new shoes, pants.  We'll
get you a haircut and a jacket before you go."

Glanced at my face, "Too rough living up here.  Why don't you get
electricity?"

"I'd have to pay the bill."

Thought I heard him call me a skinflint.

"Look, you wanna stay and work?  Plenty to eat, I'll toss in a twenty if
you help clear the back under the scrub oaks."

"Five days, eighty dollars, new outfit and haircut....  I'll stay five
days, clear out as much as we can."  He stood, filled the kettle and went
to the porch for the tub while I packed my pipe.

"Sounds good."  I lit up.  "We'll celebrate when we're done."  Played cards
with a dirty, swollen deck, talked about fishing, getting the boat to the
water and cleaning out the cattails.  When he relaxed, he started giggling
about something.  I made popcorn, put another log into the stove.

"Somebody looking for you?"

"Probably not."  Explained a difficult tribe with a third step-father who
felt the boy should be working after school and on weekends.  "Not much
work in Selma.  He was telling me to leave because I couldn't pull my
weight."  Later he added, "He's not my dad, I'm not his responsibility."

Put my arm around him, pulling him close and nodded.  Another bowl, I went
to bed.  He came before the cabin chilled.  Came close, I held him and told
him silently he could be my boy.

...

"Get up, workin' man."  He was still in bed after I dressed.  "C'mon.  Got
a lot to clear today."

He opened one eye.  Slipped my hand under the blanket, "Nice."  My warm
hand rubbed his early wood as he closed his eyes and grinned and jumped up,
slipped his shoes on.  Breakfast and we were out the door in the first rays
of sun with our tools.

Same the next few days.  Around noon, we stopped for coffee and sandwiches,
then back at it.  All around the cabin was cleared, cut low.  Went down to
the pond, and set up a few trotlines while we chopped and cleared.  Cut and
pulled vegetation all afternoon, cleaned our fish for dinner.  Moving
slowly, tired, we ate quietly.  Later we listened to the wind-up radio for
a while and enjoyed a few bowls, bathed, laughed.  He leaned against me on
the sofa and thanked me.  Yeah, he thanked me.

"What for?"

"It's quiet here.  Nobody yelling, bothering me.  Plenty to eat.  Thanks."
Then he got up and washed our clothes and brought them in to dry.

"You're welcome."  I made popcorn; he got the cards out.  "Ready to pick
out some clothes and get a haircut tomorrow?"

He didn't say anything but put the cards away and sat next to me putting
his head on my shoulder.  "Can we get ice cream?"

"Sure.  We'll celebrate your new home in Frisco."

"New home in Frisco...."  Didn't realize those four words would sting two
hearts so deeply.

...

In bed that night, he was clingy, forward.  I responded, ready.  Found his
tender face and kissed his eyes, his forehead.  He looked up at me and
brought his lips to mine.

I embraced him, sure he could feel my shaft against his stomach, my hands,
strong and sure pulled him close.  "Wish I had more to give you.  You're a
good kid, hard worker, stay at task.  No trouble at all, someone has to
miss a guy as good as you."  I kissed him.  Kissed him the way lovers kiss,
the way men kiss.  He liked that and kissed me back till I was about ready
to explode.

"Settle down" to myself.

Pulled him over my chest.  "I'd like a little affection, hard living up
here alone for so long."  I hoped that might trigger something in the
direction I wanted.  It did.  Before I knew it, a rush of cold air raised
goosebumps as the blankets hit the floor and the boy was on my chest,
straddling my thigh, rubbing his shaft on my leg, smooth balls stroking
above my knee cap while he sucked my left nipple.

"Why don't you put your rod against mine, we'll come together while we
kiss.  I like kissing you."  I whispered, trying to control my need to
ravage, bite, swipe, steal, push, "If you want."

Small hands grabbed my ribs as he slung a leg over my groin.  Those small,
smooth balls grazed my knob causing a shudder, almost tickling.  My dick
was pumping juice and I was ready, but had to play this easy.  Real easy.
"You like fingering, you're gonna love my cock."  I stroked along his thin,
short rod, not full grown yet, but looked good, smooth and straight, hard,
and covered with the silkiest skin.  Cut and nodding with need.

Could almost feel him thinking, felt his eyes opening and closing against
my skin as he lay on my chest.  He lifted his head and looked at me.  My
hands rubbed downward along his back to his rear, then between his legs
till my fingertips reached his balls.  Pressing along the skin seam that
ran between his legs I hummed, then, "Slow, real slow, sweetheart."

Lifting himself with his arms, he widened his knees alongside my hips and
moved himself into position.  We both looked down between us.  Nothing more
arousing that two hard rods against each other, "Beautiful."

"Put it in."  His knees flexed toward my arm pits, he kept his eyes on
mine, biting his lower lip.

Right hand held him open, left hand rubbed my leaking dick on his hot spot.
A tear fell, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah."  He closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head briefly.  "Go
on."

Lined up, watching his face, "Push."

Quick entry.  We stopped.  He took a deep, slow breath, transfixed.  My
breathing was rapid, shallow as my head reeled with the heat on the tip of
my shaft, thin ring of grip pulsing with his heartbeat.  Everything I ever
needed was briefly mine, more to come.  "Take what you want when you're
ready," jerked out in a whisper.

Really slick back there, and he used it to envelop more of me.  Fractions
of an inch he moved, just slow, short movements as he watched me, not
seeing me.  He was somewhere else, with someone else in his mind.  "Kiss
me," whiney beg.

The kid was slow until he came out of his daze, his kisses became more
passionate, tongue trying to choke me, I pressed his hips down and hunched
into his tight hole feeling the wet silk of his heat rubbing every nerve on
my shaft into a prickling frenzy.  Closer, I was getting closer, "Harder."

Shoved me deeper as he lifted himself, palms on my chest and met my
thrusts.  Deeper, hotter, and he gasped, kept gasping, nose running.  Were
those tears?  Ignored that, I had to cum, halfway to the finish, to filling
him with me.  He'd take me into his blood stream, I'd be inside him
forever, owning these moments of his life.  Grabbed his hips and pressed
him hard against my bone, moving his narrow body around, feeling my dick
sliding, opening all his never-touched places while he kept moaning, hands
gripped into the skin on my chest.  Burned where his nails dug; he held on,
head tilted back, still gasping.

Tried to keep going, tried but it had been too long.  My needed release
began; moment of uphill, climbing toward it, almost painful, then teasing
traces of relief, only several....  Stopped to feel the shots of my hot cum
between my slit and the hot, tight skin where I'd stretched and held taut
against my glans.  So tightly stretched against my slit.  Smooth, pulsing,
slipperier.  I pushed harder, feeling my cum escape around my shaft, out
his tight ring.  Shoved and pressed a few more times.

Skin on my balls was cold with leaking cum.  Still, wanting, needing every
moment, every sensation, every smell.  Looked up, he fell on my chest.
Snot, saliva smeared and chilled on my chest.  "Are you okay?"

No answer.  Slowly, he lifted his rear, popping my half-hard dick out.  Ran
to the porch, heard him washing.  Brought a damp cloth, lay it on the
still-warm stove for a moment, then he came to wipe me.  Watching, I could
see he didn't get the pleasure I had.  "C'mere.  I like kissing you."

Little more warm skin through a few hours before the cold air, light rain
and damp clothes of Friday.

Woke ahead of him, I kissed him like I used to kiss my wife decades ago;
like I kissed my Pete once.  Got up, dressed and brought him coffee.
"Thanks."  I didn't want him to leave, another long, painful tape in my
brain was being recorded now.

He cleaned up and we ate.  Spent the morning shopping, haircut.  Childish
look to him when he smiled, hair trimmed smartly.  Lunch and ice cream --
two sundaes for him and we waited by the highway for the old, gray school
bus.  Gave him five twenties and he got on the bus, "Ever need work, come
back."

Short scream of brakes, stench of diesel and he was gone.

...

Damn hard going into the cabin alone, but I did and started planning out my
work.  Felt empty, me and the cabin, even the land.  Maybe it was time for
me to find a man.  Not what I wanted, though.  I wanted Pete; he was gone.
Cullen was good; he was gone, too.

Moped around for the rest of the weekend, the next week until I started
feeling a burn when I peed.  Boy left me with a case of clap.  "Virgin, my
ass."  Had to chuckle when I got my shot, pills.

As I went home, I figured he was just young and foolish.  I was equally
foolish not wrapping up.  Foolish.  I'd lied to him as well.  Set it all
aside and started composting, tending my weed patch.  Went in the house,
watched the tube for a while.

...

Got a few light snows in February, I continued clearing, replanting.  In
the chapping winds of March, I grabbed my gun from under the sofa when I
heard footsteps on the porch at sunset.  Who's poking around here?

"Yussi--you home?"

"Who's there?"

"Cullen."



Fin.

Cullen