Date: Thu, 10 Feb 2011 22:26:27 -0800
From: marianasdeep3@hushmail.com
Subject: Fast Cash Stripper  (Part 9:  Ghost Light)

Again, thanks for the kind comments and suggestions.  My other
stories can be found here:
http://www.nifty.org/nift/authors.html#marianasdeep
There will be at least one more installment of this, plus an
epilogue, likely appended to the last.

Part IX:  Ghost Light


When we got to the room, Steve forewarned, "It's not the Taj Mahal
downtown!  But it will do."

The first order of business was food.  Not only was it dinner time,
but I had not eaten in over 24 hours, 24 minutes about all a 14-
year-old could endure.  As it turned out, neither had Steve.
Rather than staying at the club last night, he had hitched a ride
from an adult male dancer friend to the outskirts of his
neighborhood, snuck into his garage, and pushed his dirtbike
several blocks from home before starting it.  He really had been
looking for me the whole time, riding the highway back to the club,
and riding the trails to our usual haunts.  Steve insisted that I
stay in the room while he went out to get fast food.  We finally
got a chance to talk, once we were sitting and eating.  A mix of
kid fun, McDonalds and a Little Caesar's carryout pizza.

"You know, when you were gone, I noticed a pool downstairs," I
commented.  I was a kid.  I wanted to play.  I assumed he did too.
When he didn't break from eating to say anything, I continued, "I'm
too exhausted now, but do you want to go swimming in the morning?"

"No," he answered, first as if just disinterested, but then added
with increasing seriousness, "In fact you shouldn't leave the
room," then slightly scolding, "In fact you shouldn't have left the
room."

"So we're prisoners here or something?" I asked with a frustrated
tone, but I knew the reasons, and immediately let on that I was in
on the planning, "It's been over 24 hours since I left home.  I was
supposedly on a sleepover at Scooter's, and was supposed to be back
by late afternoon, certainly by dinner.  I'm sure my folks have
called Scooter's dad by now.  How long do you think before they
report me as missing?"

"Well, that call's the first step.  Should be interesting to see
how Scooter's dad covers for Scooter's uncle now that you're
missing." Steve replied.

"What about Scooter?" I added, "What's going to be his story with
me missing, but Scooter at home?"

 "Didn't think of that," said Steve, but then started thinking it
over out loud, "I have a feeling that Scooter is `missing' with
you, at least until further notice."

"What about you, what's your alibi?" I asked.

"I told my folks I was staying over at Tim's.  His dad is such an
alchy we can go anywhere we want, whenever we want," Steve said,
then added when he thought about it some more, "Tim and I are
either `missing' as well, or he's home and his dad doesn't know the
difference.  My folks will start calling too, so if Tim's home,
I've lost my alibi."

When Steve mentioned Tim, I remembered I was surprised to see him
and Matt, as well as Steve, from our circle of skating friends, in
the locker room at the club, while I was getting ready for the
first dance.  I remembered the details of Matt that evening, knew
for instance that he was wearing lipstick going into the second
dance, which meant he, like me, had just given a blowjob, probably
his first, and he too had had his butt paddled on stage.  But I
didn't remember any details of Tim during the night.  I concluded
that meant he had not endured these things, or I would have
noticed.  Thinking about it brought the last evening back, my mind
changing the topic as I wanted to find out about Tim.  But I didn't
know how to ask.

"Did Tim ...um..." I started to ask, then didn't know how to finish.

"Did Tim what?" Steve asked.

"Does Tim ... Did Tim get his butt paddled?" I sorta got to the
point.  Steve was already on it.

"Do you mean does Tim give blowjobs?" Steve said laughing, then
continuing the joke, "He's not a cocksucker like you are!" he said
with a smile.

It cut like a knife.

I started to cry, belittled by a friend.  I had been told I was a
cocksucker by Mr. Samuels before I ever sucked a cock, starting
with his.  I had been told to open my pussy lips after he slapped
me.  Edison had told me to "suck the cock that fucked ya" after I
had first ever been fucked.  Carlito also slapped me to open up,
when I couldn't believe I would be sucking his cock while getting
fucked in the ass.  I was coerced to swallow all their loads.  Now
it all came flooding back.  But these were ADULTS that had
belittled me and coerced me.  I was now getting called a cocksucker
by a peer, someone my age, and worst of all, by one of my best
friends.

"You knew?" was all I could get out.

"Mark, come on.  Of course we knew.  You know it too.  I saw you
looking at Matt.  You know you don't come out of that session
wearing lipstick if you haven't just greased a cock with some of
it," my sobbing only increased, but to make his point, he upped the
ante, continuing, "and we all know you got fucked in the ass too,
of course Libby was broadcasting that all over the backhall."

Confusion arrested my crying, "Libby?  You mean Scooter?" I asked

"No!  Paul.  You know, Scooter's uncle?  Like, Paul is his dad's
brother? So they have the same last name?  Don't you remember Libby
pointing out the difference between taking a cock up your ass and
getting fucked up the ass!" Steve answered my question, and then
some.

"Of course I do!  How would I ever forget that!" I yelled at Steve.

Steve then started to offer his quarter, "Look man, it doesn't
fucking matter."

There was a long silence.  Something about the way he said it
indicated he didn't believe it.  It did matter.  Or something else
mattered to him, was bothering him.

"Did you ever suck cock?" I dared to ask.

"No, I'm not a cocksucker." Steve replied, matter of factly,
ignoring the derisiveness of the word as it applied to me.

"Did you ever have your cock sucked?" I asked, then somewhat
proudly, "I did, and it's why I came to the club in the first
place."

"Sure.  It's why I came at first too." Steve answered.

"How did you avoid becoming a cocksucker?" I asked.

"Avoid becoming a cocksucker?" Steve repeated the question as if it
were stupid, "I just simply didn't put a cock in my mouth." As if
the answer were that simple.

"Mr. Samuels put his cock in my face, told me to suck it, to open
up, and when I wouldn't, he slapped me."

"And you opened up." Steve concluded.

"He threatened to slap me again." I defended.

"Mr. Samuels did the same thing to me ..." Steve offered, "... and I
decked him."

"Didn't he kill you after that?" I asked shocked.

"Yeah, threw me across the room, in fact.  Libby stormed in and
broke it up, ya know, as Scooter always says, `He protects his
boys,' and all that shit," Steve said proudly, but you could sense
the anger.  Then after some silence, "I was never offered cock ever
again."

I continued to process all of what was said.  Then I had to ask,
"What do you do between dances?"

"Mark, I'm going to open your universe twice as large as it was
opened last night.  Last night you learned there's a universe of
guys who all they want to do is fuck a 14-year-old boy up the butt.
 I'm here to tell you there's a universe of guys who want nothing
more than to get fucked by a 14-year-old cock.  I oblige."

Steve could tell I was still unsettled, and tried to help me, "It
doesn't fucking matter, man.  Even if you're a cocksucker, that's
not all you are.  You still have my respect.  You're an amazing
athlete.  I don't think I could have ridden my bike as far as you
did last night, and I'm serious when I say that.  You still have my
admiration."  I started sobbing, but tears of comfort.  Steve
pulled me into a hug, "You're still my friend.  Good God, I
wouldn't have looked all over fucking Nevada if that weren't true."
 Steve was now crying.

He broke it off as 14-year-olds do, only having so much margin for
emotions, "... and you stink, need a shower, and need to have your
clothes clean."  With that he suggested I hit the shower, "Leave
all your clothes outside the bathroom door.  I'm gonna throw mine
in too; there's a washing machine down the hall.  I gotta get all
the riding dust out of my clothes."

I started getting undressed in the bathroom.  When he had my
clothes together, I opened the door, nude, not expecting Steve to
be standing there.  I handed him my clothes.  He read my Levi tag,
"W26 L29?  Where did you get such a tight little ass on stilts?" he
asked smiling, still building me up.  Steve was more proportioned,
but not by much, I verified as I glanced at his tag, a W27 L28.
"It's a cute butt too," he added jokingly.  I blushed, and started
getting aroused, but turned for the shower before he noticed.

When I got out of the shower, wrapped in a towel, Steve was sitting
in the only chair in the room ... in nothing but a towel wrapped
around his waist.  "Where are my clothes?" I asked.  "In the wash,"
he answered, getting up to go into the shower.  I was aroused
thinking that we would be sitting around the rest of the evening in
nothing but a towel.  I saw his ass get into the shower; he saw no
point in closing the door.

He came out of the bathroom drying his hair with the only towel he
had above his head, his cock thus swinging free while he was
shaking his arms and hands, moving the towel back and forth through
his hair.  When he was done, he wrapped himself in it, sitting on
the bed while I sat in the chair.  He turned on the T.V. and we
watched Carol Burnette.  When it was done, Steve went down the hall
wearing his towel and fetched the laundry.  When he got to the
room, I got to watch him put his underwear on.  He threw me mine.

We were exhausted and both wanted to go to bed.  THE bed.  Not the
Taj Mahal, there was only one bed in the room, but at least it was
a double.  He pulled back the sheets and got into only half the
bed, a clear signal that I was to share it with him.  I climbed in,
my heart racing in excitement.  He pulled the covers over himself
as I pulled them over me.  I snuggled with him, his back to me.  I
eventually spooned him, my hard cock rubbing through my underwear
against the underwear covering his butt.

I then made my first overt homosexual advance of my life.  I
reached over his body, rubbing his chest and stomach.  He didn't
seem to mind, though he was "stiff."  I went to see if the word
applied to his cock, resting a hand on the bulge of his underwear.
It did, his cock was hard.  Encouraged, I moved up and reached
under his waist band.  I started rubbing his hard cock, eventually
feeling its whole length, then his balls.  He moaned a little.
Then he surprised me.  Disappointed me.  He reached into his own
underwear, fetched my hand pulling it out, and said, "Don't."

I was heartbroken, but thought I understood.  We were both
exhausted.  He settled for me hugging him close from behind.

The next morning, he was up before I was, already out of bed as I
awoke.  He had donned his jeans, "I'm going for some breakfast.
There's a donut shop on the corner."  When he got back we ate:
ahh, the breakfast of champions.

After breakfast, we started watching T.V., but there were only so
many episodes of The Guiding Light, and As the World Turns, that we
could stomach.  We were kids.  Eventually we took to wrestling on
the bed in our underwear, laughing our asses off.  I held my own,
pinning him as much as he pinned me.  Once, when I was coming out
of the bathroom after a shower, he pounced on me into a game of
Pink Belly.  I lost, my abdomen as red as my butt was when it had
been paddled, again laughing our asses off.

Eventually even Steve slackened the rules.  He was a kid too.  We
left the room and went swimming downstairs.  We didn't have suits,
but we had lost all inhibitions after an evening at the club,
deciding to swim in our underwear.  Wet whities are definitely see-
through; Steve looked more erotic in them than when he was nude.  I
was popping boners all the time.  He was too.  The pool room was
generally empty mid-day anyway, but a few noticed.  When we sat in
the hot-tub on the pool deck, a man joined us,

"Don't you boys have suits?"

I was silent, but Steve had a fairly quick reply, "Our mom forgot
to pack them."

"Are you two brothers?"

"Yeah," Steve said, right as I said, "No," then laughed.  Steve
continued, "We're half brothers."

"Is your Mom here?"

Steve was on guard, I was onto it too, "She's trying to find work
during the day, but will be back tonight."

"What's your room number?" and when we didn't answer, he added,
"I'm in room 107, alone.  Let's just say I could relieve some of
that stress you're finding yourselves in," motioning to Steve's
enlarged bulge.

"O.K., thanks, we'll think about it." Steve said.  When the man
left, Steve joked to me laughing, "We should invite him to the club
for next Wednesday."

A little weirded out, Steve more from us having been noticed, we
left the pool for our room.  The programming was getting better
anyway, now that it was after 3 pm and the after-school programming
started, even in the summer.  We were engrossed for the next few
hours, watching programs from when T.V. was great, but already in
re-run:  Gilligan's Island, Star Trek, The Munsters, Speed Racer
(for a laugh), I Dream of Genie, Bugs Bunny.  Then the news ...

"Isn't there something else to watch?" I asked.

"Yeah, but we need to tune into this."  Eventually we heard what he
was looking for,

"And now the missing children case we reported earlier.  Four boys,
all of them friends, are missing tonight.  We originally reported
on two of them, Mark Johnson and Lewis Libby.  Lewis goes by the
nickname Scooter."  The camera cut to a picture of Scooter's dad,
"Peter Libby, Lewis's dad, said the boys were staying at his house
and decided to go trail riding on bicycles.  They haven't been seen
or heard from since, missing since Wednesday night."  The camera
next showed our most recent school pictures.

"Shit!" said Steve.  "Now you definitely can't leave the room."

Then the camera cut to my Dad ... and I lost it, crying.  His eyes
were red and swollen, definitely from crying.  Steve grabbed me,
"It's o.k. kid.  You'll be together soon."

"When?" I asked sobbing.  "Soon, couple more days, max.  We want
this to heat up some ... wait, gotta hear this"

The T.V. continued, "We now add to the report that two additional
friends, also missing, may be with them.  Steve Talbert ..," ...
"Fuck!" yelled Steve ... "... was staying at his friend's house,
Timothy Townshend.  Both of their mini-bikes are missing."  The
camera showed their school pictures too, then Steve's dad, stressed
from crying, and Tim's dad, out of it from alcohol (though not
obvious to the unknowing viewer).

"They're not fucking mini-bikes.  They're moto-cross.  Dirtbikes if
you can't find anything else to call them." Steve yelled.  "God
damn it, now I can't leave the room."

"...If you have any information as to their whereabouts, or have seen
any of these boys, you are urged to contact the police...Well, that
sure is disturbing, Connie, isn't it?  Sure is Bruce, I hope and
pray they will find these kids safe.  How's the weather today,
Chuck? ..."

"We've got to stock up on food.  I'm going to the grocery store
down the block."  With that he lost his underwear, still damp from
the pool, and donned jeans commando style.  When he got back, we
ate dinner, a few hot items from the Deli like rotisserie chicken,
but also some of the staples that would be our food for the next
couple of days:  bananas, cereal, cookies, peanuts, potato chips,
bread, peanut butter and jelly.  We watched some more T.V., All in
the Family, Steve in his jeans, but shirtless, me still only in my
underwear.  Then it was time for Pink Belly revenge.

I pounced on Steve and had him pinned in a flash.  My hand started
slapping his abdomen as hard as I could.  His abdomen rosy red, we
were both laughing hysterically ... then I couldn't take it anymore.
I looked into his eyes, his face slowly losing his smile.  And I
went down on him.

At first it was his tits.  Red.  Swollen from puberty.  His hard
nipples pointing upward, broadcasting his virility as I took them
into my mouth, sucking first one while massaging the other, then
sucking the other while I felt the wet softness I had left behind.
My licking extended to his armpits.  I inhaled his masculine body
odor, then moved along the pecs back to the tits, up to his neck,
looked at his face, "Mark ... no ... don't."  I was not going to yield.
 I sucked his tits again, and he surrendered, at least for awhile,
enough time for me to move down.  I licked the side of his chest,
licking each rib.  Yes he was ripped, muscular, as was I, but at
this age, the bones were winning.  I moved back to the center, a
valley between the rib cage, filled with soft flesh, but underlain
by tight muscles forming little bulges.  A pubescent 6 pack.  I
flicked the navel with my tongue while reaching for the button on
his jeans.  At first he grabbed my hand, but I managed the button,
fought back unzipping the zipper.  He was commando, his hard cock
revealed as I rolled back the jeans fabric.  I traced the pubic V
with my tongue, following pelvic bone to pubic bone, occasionally
licking the top of his leg.  I moved to the center, back to the
navel, to a slight treasure trail leading down.  I lifted his cock,
going down the trail with kisses under it.  "Mark, please.  Let's
stop."  I answered, deflecting, "You've got pubic hair?"

"Yeah, don't you?"

"No," I responded ashamed, "Didn't you have to shave it at the
club?"

"No," Steve answered, "Did they shave you?"

"Scooter shaved a little off my ass.  Said Paul didn't want pubes."
I replied.

"They wanted to shave me too, but I told them to go to hell." Steve
said.

I looked at the line of pubic hair, not a lot but enough to form a
line above the top of his cock, like a thin, but bushy, mustache.
It wasn't noticeable from a distance, but as I looked now, each
proud hair was telling me, "I'm post-pubescent.  Not only can this
cock cum, but if you're not careful, it will get you pregnant."
With that thought, I could not resist, and his cock went into my
mouth.

"Mark, I said let's stop."  He didn't say no, just suggested we
stop, so I sucked hard.  I was thinking of our dances together when
I gave him faux blowjobs.  It all came flooding back.  First my
lipsticked mouth on the hard bulge in his white underwear, while he
was wearing a `50's jacket and opened jeans in the second dance.
Then on a massage table bed, my mouth on his jockstrap, after the
basketball game of the fourth dance, me in a string.  But now this
was finally real, his exposed cock actually in my mouth.  His cock
pulsing from a heartbeat.  His cock warming the insides of my
cheeks with its engorged skin.  I was surprised by its warmth,
almost hot. Then he moaned.  A couple of more sucks.  I could feel
the softness of his cherry tip, my tongue moving around the
contours to the depression that led to his slit.  When I sucked,
the slit opened more.  I moved the slit to the roof of my mouth
toward the back, the opening ready to fire onto the back of my
tongue.  I started getting precum.  Steve was not circumsized, but
his foreskin didn't cover his tip, especially when he was as hard
as he was now.  I took a moment to roll it back, and when I got
back on his cock, I got a higher dose of musk taste, sweat, and
pasty hormones.  Then I heard what I wanted to hear.

"That's it Mark.  Suck my cock," followed by heavy breathing, "Suck
my cock," then "Oh God, you little bitch."  I didn't mind it coming
from him.  It gave me permission to shed his jeans to his knees.
Now I was sucking his cock while feeling his ass, hands pinched by
the bed, but still able to rub the muscular mounds.  My tongue was
roving around the canal on the underside of his cock, his tube
swelling as it started to fill with cum, more precum entering my
mouth as I took his cock deep.  With his tip now near the entrance
to my throat, my lips stretched around the base of his cock, and
his cock soaked with a mix of his precum and my saliva, he started
thrusting.  He wasn't mouth fucking me, I could still suck, still
control his excitement.  My tongue roved around his cock with each
suck, resulting in a slurping noise.  Then I had him.

"Mark, I'm gonna cum."  He tried pulling my head off.  I sucked
harder, "Mark.  Mark.  I'm gonna cum." Louder this time, "Mark I'm
..." he couldn't get the rest out.  I sucked hard, felt the tube of
his cock pulse, and got my reward.  His first blast of sperm soaked
the back of my tongue.  The next my cheeks.  I wanted to keep up,
and swallowed it down.  Then smaller but quicker shots of cum
filled my mouth.  I swirled it, swallowed, swirled some more,
swallowed.  I was tasting his essence, his budding potency, his
sperm.  When his cock stopped pulsing, I slid my lips off, keeping
all of it's slimey cum coating into my mouth, swallowed once when
the cock was out, then returned, licking any remaining sperm from
every inch of his shaft.  When I was done, I used my wrist to wipe
the cum at the corners of my mouth, the only sperm not in my mouth,
or in my belly, or on its way down.

I pulled my underwear down and offered my cock to him, hoping.  I
knew the answer. "No way, kid," Steve said, "But I owe you at least
a hand job."  I lay back, cock up.  To my delight, he not only
grabbed my cock and started stroking, but he licked my chest and
tits too.  I was moaning, couldn't last long after all the
excitement I initiated, and all the excitement the whole damned day
amplified, and fired all over my chest and Steve's hand.  The first
pulse clearing my head, a string of my own cum landing on my face.
Three pulses criss-crossing my chest with ropes of cum.  Finally a
spasm of pulses leaving a pool of sperm at my navel.  Steve lay
down on top of me, not minding that his chest and stomach was
smearing into my cum.  He kissed me slightly on the lips, then the
cheeks.

I couldn't resist, I had to ask, "Steve, why did you resist me at
first?"

"I didn't want to go there, kid.  You're my first with someone my
own age." He replied.

I understood completely.  It was one thing to have sex instigated
by an adult.  It was another to have sex with someone your own age,
initiated by you, or your peer.  It forced an admission.  Perhaps
you wanted this for life now.  At a minimum, it was definitely no
longer "not your fault."  Steve knew my silence meant complete
understanding.  I looked at him.  Our stares met.  I reached for
him, he returned it, reaching for me.  We hugged.  He lay back.  I
took his jeans the rest of the way off of his legs.  Shed my
underwear.  We were definitely gonna sleep nude together, I was
seeing to that.  I covered us in blankets to our navels, put my
head on his chest, watching my own fingers trace and twirl around
his tits.  I listened to his breathing, his heartbeat, felt the
warmth of his body on my cheek and ear.  I watched him fall asleep,
fought sleep to continue watching, but lost.