Grounded in the Air

Grounded in Air

Gee Whillickers

g.whillickers@gmail.com

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This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any actual place, event, or person, living or dead, is purely coincidental. This story is intended for adults and contains subject matter not suitable for children. Parental Advisory in effect.

** 1 **

Donald Sherbrook was hard. His penis was always hard in this situation. It had been like this since he was six years old, more than four years ago, ever since his first time. The throbbing heat emanating from between his legs and against his butt only exacerbated his condition. His right hand, twisting slightly, squeezed the rubber covered shaft underneath. He adjusted his weight, leaning to his right slightly and raised his left foot. His left hand squeezed the clutch lever, pulling it to the stop against the handlebar. His left foot pushed down hard on the gearshift. The 85 cc motocross bike clunked into gear. Donny waited, focused, tense, for the starter's signal.

They were off. Donny twisted the throttle hard, releasing the clutch to its friction point. Finding traction, Donny accelerated then slammed shut the throttle, quickly pulled in the clutch and simultaneously pulled up hard with the toe of his left boot, into second gear. Once again, he released the clutch expertly, using his four years of experience to gather speed, knowing he would need it for the first jump, just ahead. His bike growled, the noise increasing in pitch as he accelerated, not sounding quite right to his practiced ear. The carburetor again he guessed.

The boy ahead of him, number eighteen, popped his clutch a bit too fast. His bike wheelied slightly and the boy released the throttle, overcorrecting, and lost speed.

Donny, swearing at the rookie, leaned left while pushing hard outwards against his left handlebar, countersteering to avoid him. He just managed to swerve left around him. Donny continued to twist the throttle brutally, knowing he would need every bit of speed to make the gap now and avoid smashing into the far side of the jump below the apex. His bike accelerated, gathering speed. Hopefully, thought Donny, listening to the sour note from the engine, it'll be enough.

He reached the launch point of the first jump and shifted his body on the bike, lifting his small butt from the seat and adjusting his center of gravity.

Donny Sherbrook was flying.

Amid the angry buzzing of twenty five two stroke engines underneath twenty three straining boys and two girls, nobody could hear Donald's laugh or see his wide grin as he again shifted his weight, readying his bike for the landing.

Well before he reached the landing, he knew that the rookie's mistake would end up costing him. He braced himself, and landed hard, just below the apex, using his knees to absorb the shock his bike's springs didn't. Donny maintained control but lost time, watching the pack begin to pull ahead. Damn it. He tried to make up the time, taking a risk and braking very late going into the hard right hand corner. He went in too hot. His rear tire began to slide out from under his center of gravity. Donny corrected, and knew, even while he was struggling hard to pull the bike into the straightaway, that it was too late.

He high-sided and was thrown from his bike, cursing loudly into the air as he hit the hay bales on the edge of the track.

"Fuck!" he yelled. Then, looking at his bike's mangled wheel he yelled again, "Fuck!!" Donny's race day was over.

"Aww man, mom's going to kill me. We can't afford another wheel," he muttered to himself as he walked over to the pits, pulling off his gloves, mouthguard, helmet, and earplugs. He shook his straight black hair out of his eyes and watched the track crew move his bike.

* * *

"But mom..." Donny whined, riding in the passenger seat of his mom's ancient green Dodge Caravan, pulling his mangled bike behind on its small flatbed trailer.

"No buts Donny. We can't afford it and you know it. You'll just have to miss a few races until we can scrape together enough to get it fixed...again." Laura Sherbrook told her son. She paused a moment and then continued, her tone apprehensive, "Actually Donny I wanted to talk to you about that. About your racing. I'm not sure how much longer I'll be able to keep you in it. You know how expensive it is and...."

"Mom! No! I have to race! You can't make me stop!! I'll rob a bank or something for the money!!"

"Now Donald. Let's stay in reality for a moment. I know it's fun but..."

Yet again, Donny interrupted his mom, "Fun!? It's the only thing that matters! It's the only thing that's important to me. It's not like I can keep any friends with your stupid job making us move all the time. Why don't you just qu..."

This time, it was Laura's turn to interrupt. "Donald! That will do. I don't want to hear another word out of you about this. You keep quiet until we get home."

Donny sat in the passenger seat staring straight ahead and sulked. This sucked. Big time.

Upon arriving home Donny stomped into the house, throwing off his shoes and plopped heavily onto the couch in the living room, his arms crossed. He saw his mom standing at the front door looking at him. Her expression softened and she approached Donny, sitting down beside him. Donny felt his mom pull him into a hug.

"Donny. I'll try. Ok? I don't know how I'll get the money, but I'll see what I can do." She kissed the top of Donny's head.

Donny felt bad. He knew how hard it was. His mom was some kind of a consultant. She was contracted by companies to come in and improve workplace morale and management style, that kind of thing. When the economy tanked, well, there just weren't many businesses looking for that kind of thing anymore. They had moved five times in the past two years. Each contract only lasting a few months and paying just enough. Donny didn't even bother unpacking the boxes in his room anymore.

"Sorry mom," he mumbled and leaned into her hug.

"How about we have take out for dinner. I'll order from Charlie's," answered Laura.

"Sounds good. Thanks mom." Donny hugged his mom, then got up to go clean and put his motocross gear away and take a look at his bike.

Fifteen minutes later, he stood looking at his bike, a green Kawasaki 85cc kid's sized motocross. He loved his bike, but lately he hated his bike. He hadn't placed in a race for months. Hell, he hadn't even finished the last four races. It was always something. A broken throttle cable last week. A busted brake lever the week before. He thought of the other kids, coming with their parents pulling huge enclosed air conditioned trailers packed full of tools and spare parts. Racing was an expensive hobby. If you didn't have the money, it was hard to make a good showing. He survived off of borrowed parts, the support of helpful track personnel and competitor's dad's acting as mechanics, and second-hand bits and pieces. He wished it could be different. It was a wonder he did as well as he did on his paltry budget.

Sighing he went into the garage and pressed the button to open the door. Going back to the trailer parked behind his mom's van on the curb, he unhooked the straps securing it to the trailer. Grunting and sweating, he then boy-handled it slowly up the driveway and into the garage where he carefully placed it on its stand. He closed the garage door and walked back into the house, his thoughts as dark as the garage behind him.

"Mom, I'm going up to have a shower. Yell when the food gets here please," Donny asked his mom as he climbed the stairs.

"Ok Dear, it should be an hour or so, I haven't even called yet." answered Donny's mom.

Entering his room he stripped off his clothes, piling them on a stack of unopened boxes and walked naked into the bathroom. He wasn't a happy boy. He hadn't been happy since...well he couldn't remember. Maybe when he was six, before his dad died right after he started motocross. He had a hard time for a few months after that, but everyone told him that he would adjust, that things would get better. Things did get better too, for a while. After six months he was in school, making a few friends, and had been getting more involved in racing. He fondly remembered his first bike, a little 50cc automatic transmission Honda that his dad bought him before he died. Then, suddenly, they had to move.

Once again, he adjusted. They had stayed there for a year. Once again, he was making friends and starting to connect with people. Then they moved again, and again. Donny didn't even bother trying to make friends anymore. He pretty much ignored the other kids at school since he knew he probably wouldn't even finish out the year with them. He had a few kids he talked to in motocross, it was a fairly small community of people, but nobody he could really call a friend. He was lonely. Very lonely.

Adjusting the water temperature, Donny climbed in and stood under the water for five minutes before he started to soap himself. The water running down his face made it look like he wasn't even crying.

Fifteen minutes later he was feeling somewhat better. He had dried off and, leaving his wet towel on the bathroom floor as was mandatory for ten year old boys, had re-entered his room. Donny carefully closed the door before laying down on his bed, still naked, and starting his second favorite hobby, quickly moving up his priority list to first. A hobby discovered five months ago thanks to him overhearing a conversation between two fellow racers who didn't realize he was listening. The rest he figured out on his own, helped by the judicious use of the computer. It's amazing what you can find on the internet.

Donny curled his forefinger, middle finger, and thumb around his hard penis and began pumping slowly, then faster the way he had learned brought him the best feelings. Images began flashing through his mind as he used his other hand to hold and rub his tiny balls. He had found he like to rub hard, in circles, while pumping faster and faster with his other hand. Faster and faster, his arm getting tired now, he pumped, while more and more images ran through his mind, images that made the feelings better, stronger, more erotic. Donny felt the tension rise and knew what was coming. His three inches of very hard penis reached its pinnacle of arousal and began to throb repeatedly while delicious feelings coursed through Donny's body. A few seconds later, it was over. Sensitive now, he released his penis and balls and lay on the bed panting, enjoying a few seconds of afterglow, and waited for what he knew was next.

Almost immediately, he felt bad. Not about masturbating, he knew that was normal, the internet again, but because of the images he always thought of while he did it. Ryan's dad, bending over Ryan's bike fixing his clutch, the muscles on his arms bulging as he strained with a bolt. Jake's dad, smiling at Jake after a great race while hugging his son. Mr. Crayson at the bike shop, joking with him, he always had time for a quick chat about whatever new bikes or parts were out lately.

He was, he knew, weird. Messed up. He couldn't even get being gay right. If he couldn't like girls, then at least he was supposed to like boys his age. Not that he didn't, they were fine, some of them quite interesting actually, but it wasn't the same. Nobody knew of course. Nobody could, or would, ever know. That was a promise he made to himself. Not that it was hard to keep that promise. Who the hell would he tell?

No friends, no life. His favorite thing, racing, even that he couldn't seem to do right lately, and now this. He was some kind of a reverse pervert. Donald Sherbrook, at that moment, hated himself. With those thoughts his eyes closed and he fell asleep.

"Donny! For god's sake get some clothes on! And by the way, the food's here," his mom said, laughing at finding her son lying naked and asleep on his bed.

Donny awoke suddenly and realizing his predicament immediately covered his penis and testicles with his hands while crossing his legs. "Mom! You're supposed to knock first!"

"I know sweetie, but sometimes I still forget. You didn't used to care. I remember when you would parade around half the evening after your bath without a stitch on."

"Yeah, but I'm not a little kid anymore. I'm almost eleven. You're not supposed to see me naked. Now leave please, I'll be down in a minute."

Laura left, closing the door behind her, chuckling at her son's new found modesty.