(C)Tooluser September 2010 This story is fiction, and any resemblance to real people or places is entirely coincidental.
Hope you like it,
Now me ’n’ Raylene didn’t always use to be yellin’. Was a time, before she got knocked up we got on pretty good: used to go boostin’ together. She’d do the sweet talkin’ and distraction - she learned a lot from Mom, and could turn a guy’s head clean around - and I’d boost the stuff, on account of me being the juvenile. Well, Raylene was too, but she sure dun’t look it. And oftentimes she’d hit on the guard or the owner good enough, an’ she’d make a little extra. Then it’d be turn-about: me keeping the watch while she done the workin’. I didn’t use to watch Raylene working, not the sex part - “prayin’” we used to call it - ’cos I seen all that before in the trailer anyhow, but I sure did like to watch her sweet talkin’ the guys every chance I could. It was like seeing them smiling and stuff was kind of givin’ me happy feelings too, ’cept if he was blond, and - you know. Them guys what I look out for all the time. Then I’d feel all kinda chokin’ like and wantin’ to cry an’ run over an’ be with ’em and all stupid shit like that. That hurts real bad inside.
Pop were real pissed when Raylene got to showin’ an two bits of family business went all to hell. Wasted a whole lotta breath yelling about rubbers an’ stuff which was stupid. I know she used rubbers, every time, on account of I used to carry ’em for her ’cos she said a girl carrying ’em ain’t decent. Only one guy I know done it with her without rubbers, and squealin’ on him ain’t any more healthier than squealin’ on Duke, that’s for sure.
So anyhow, I come runnin’ in through the kitchen bare-ass naked from being with Bill, and Raylene looked up from the quart of ice-cream she was digging down and gave me a nasty smile. Kind of like the lazy-ass grin from the old days, ’cept it don’t reach her eyes no more. They was hatin’ me, just like always.
“Well,” she said, “sure looks like I ain’t the junior cocksuckin’ whore no more, don’t it?” And she smirked and pushed out a dribble of ice-cream so it ran down from the corner of her mouth.
“An’ it sure looks like you’re still eatin’ for six,” I said, making hog noises. I swear I don’t know why she’s piling on the lard; no way she gonna get any business after she’s popped. Don’t she know it’s pissing Pop right off?
Her smile like, went real sour, and she narrowed them hard, dead eyes on me. “Don’t you get smart, junior ho’,” she said. “You know Pop and that fag shit. You better start bein’ real nice, pardner, ’less you want a real early fuckin’ retirement.”
“Fuck off!” I yelled, giving her the finger, feeling clammy-cold-scared when she mentioned Pop.
She started laughing and that were nastier than the smile. Nearly as nasty as the way she was rubbing her thumb back and forth across her fingertips. I turned and run, hearing her cackling all up the stairs ’till I heard Mom shouting what the durned racket was about.
I felt real bad - I could just hear how Raylene’d carry on if I told that I’d just done it for free, like Bill was family or something. I just knew she weren’t gonna believe that her cut was the big Zee, an’ it kind of spoiled my shower. I didn’t want to touch myself or nothin’, and thinking about his big warm rough hands on me made me feel all mixed up. Kind of happy-feelin’ remembering doing it together, but hurtin’-scared thinking about how he threw me out and maybe didn’t wanna do it no more. When the last of his cum washed down that drain-hole I felt real sad and wished I’d thought to wipe some on a cloth or somethin’ and keep it.
When I clumb out the cubicle I could hear Mom ’n’ Raylene still mixing it, but seemed like there was kind of an echo. Took me a second to fix on: it was more yellin’ coming from Bill’s place, and that reminded me that here I was stood naked while my onliest pair of decent short-shorts was over there.
Maybe it was Raylene sayin’ about Pop and fag stuff that made me recall, I don’t know, but I just lit out that bathroom and run down to the back room where we dumped the hot stuff from our lock-up when we moved out the trailer park.
The place looked like a fuckin’ land-fill with the heap of garbage sacks in it, all piled over the TVs and stereos and shit we still got. ’S easy to get rid of laptops and iPods and suchlike, but nobody don’t want that big-ass stuff no more. Harley and Duke both keep tryin’ ta tell him, but Pop’s kind of old-fashioned that way.
Anyhow, it took me near an hour of clamberin’ about to find the garbage sack I wanted, and I was just taking it back to my new room when Mom yelled as how dinner was ready. So I grabbed a T-shirt outta Raylene’s things - it come down past my knees - and went down to snatch what I could outta the carry-out bucket.
Pop said the furniture guys were comin’ tomorrow - seems there is some use to having a knocked-up sister after all. He said to Mom and Raylene how they gotta stay clean, what with Duke comin’ home and his parole and all, just like he weren’t the biggest lush sitting there. Once Mom an’ Pop got to yellin’ Raylene didn’t let me get nowhere near that chicken bucket no more.
So I done my chores, ignorin’ Raylene’s cracks about Duke working me hard when he come home, waiting until they was all soused enough I could sneak upstairs, where I just made up a heap of coats an’ shit in my room. It’s kind of scary to think I got this whole big space - like, near a third of a trailer - all for myself, and a door just like Mom and Pop’s what really shuts. Never thought I’d miss staring at that ratty old curtain across my bunk-hole and hearin them three goin’ at it. Not that Mom or Pop mixed in or anythin’ like that: like I said, they had their own cabin, with like, a real door so everything was decent.
Maybe it was havin’ Duke comin’ home made me think of it, but I remembered the first time Mom ’n’ Pop had a real session. I tried to stop the remembering knowing where was gonna end, but sometimes I’m real stupid like that, like I can’t help it.
Mom and Pop went into their cabin, and they turned up this hymn-singin’ real loud. I was just real little, an’ scairt of all the bangin’ an’ yellin’ I was hearing. Harley had a real bad head or somethin’; said how he was gonna backhand me if’n I don’t shut up, an’ Duke just picked me up, real close in his arms. But I was too scairt from all the crashing about, and those guys roaring out those hymns sounded real angry to me and I wouldn’t believe it were just some game.
So in the end Duke carried me around to outside of their window and held me up so I could see. And he told me what I was seein’ and he were right - it was just kinda a rough wrestlin’ game an’ nothing to be scairt about. We made a joke, so like, ever after we’d say Mom an’ Poppa gone prayin’ when they put that hymn-singin’ on. And he cuddled me for like ever so long out there in the cool dark. I remember he was just startin’ to have this little hair mustache though he pretended he had to shave like Harley did.
He still smelled the same though - booze an’ cigarettes, and leather from that favorite sleeveless jacket thing of his. I can remember him now holdin’ me close against the side of the trailer, talking and laughin’ and strokin’ me, and making jokes about what we was hearin’: play wrestling and tickling me all over and kissin’ my neck as the aluminum sheet behind me bonged an’ crashed an’ whispering how it was all gonna be okay.
Only it weren’t okay. When we come back in, Harley seen my neck an’ he just drug Duke right outside. That’s when I learned the sounds what’s from a beatin’. Like a stupid-ass jerk, I just kept punchin’ at Raylene, yellin’ and tryin’ to get past her an’ she wouldn’t let me, an’ of course that’s what got Pop outta the bedroom.
Raylene she shoved me away from the door and onto the floor, and then Mom staggered out bloody-mouthed, half nekkid and I saw her tit; sagging and with big bite marks on. Then she and Raylene started screamin’ at each other, thank god, only they didn’t scream loud enough on account of I could still hear them awful sounds from outside, even though I curled up into a ball, tight as I could and just tried to only listen to all that smite the sinner and righteous fightin’ stuff.
Maaaan. I told you this room was, like, my favorite? It’s so nice to feel that cool hard against your forehead, ain’t it? Real reassuring. I just made it - well, to the door, anyhow. It’s just so neat havin’ a private place instead of just spewin’ outside. Wish I could pretend it was just drunk puking but I get to like, shaking, you know? And sometimes I’m saying stuff? That gets real scary ’cos I seen what happens when you try breathing puke. That’s one of the ways I don’t wanna go. Anyhow, it’s real nice in here on account of I can wipe it, see? So it all just goes away, down into that darkness. Shit. Gotta remember to boost some more ass-paper tomorrow.
I woke, late in the night, still feeling wrung-out, and it was weird, lyin’ there lookin’ round like, this big-ass trailer, empty as me: like it was all bein’ ripped out and smashed down or somethin’. Only thing left’s this built-in closet with speckled mirror doors. The window was wide open, an’ I was just wonderin’ if I should move into the closet and pretend it was my bunkie, when I caught just the faintest whiff of ganja - made me think of Bill, an’ the smell of it on him. Made me think about Duke too, but better remembering than before: how he’d let me toke on his spliff so I didn’t mind suckin’ his joint, an’ I wondered if the “surprise” he said he was gonna give me before he’d gotten busted was what I thought it was. He’d just said it was real big an’ I’d get to like it.
I smelled another whiff of that good skunk and I got tingles an’ a stiffy thinking about Bill, remembering the taste, and the feel of him spurting in my mouth - oh, it were like he was here in the room with me. I let myself forget about me messin’ up and him throwing me out on account of not kissin’, and I kind of drifted off again, feeling his big warm heat all around me, and pretending he did like me after all.
Dunno why I slept so good. Maybe it was thinking about Bill, or maybe it was just not having Raylene’s snoring busting my fuckin’ ears all night. I decided maybe I did prefer having a real door after all.
So I woke up, feeling aching-hungry and knowing the only thing more emptier than me was gonna be our icebox an’ store cupboards, but when we was driving over here I’d noticed a Freddie MacBurger’s not more’n an hour’s walk away. I didn’t panhandle no more since this guy called the Snoops, but all them fast-food joints’re so cheap guys'll often buy you a soda or burger if you ask nice. Ladies ask too many durn questions though. Not but guys are totally cool: worst of it’s havin’ to listen to that darned “Stranger Danger” lecture all the fuckin’ time. I mean: why do they all figure they’re the only nice guy on the planet? Oftentimes I’d rather blow ’em for the burger, just to give my fuckin’ ears a rest.
Anyhow, I couldn’t scam for no breakfast wearin’ Raylene’s baggy fuckin’ tent, so after dashing to the bathroom for a pee, shower and brushing my teeth, I come back and opened that trash sack. Suddenly it were like the last of the happy time between me and Raylene again.
It were all boost from the last place we done: crazy little fag shop way the far side of town. The big woman what run it, Shawna, took like a real shine to Raylene an’ we went back there a whole lot: Raylene givin’ the usual story about bein stuck babysittin’ me. Shawna didn’t take to me, I could tell, but she had some weird shit goin’ like she thought she gotta be nice on account of Raylene bein’ my sister or somethin’, so it was easy.
While Raylene was workin’ Shawna in the upstairs apartment: you know “prayin’” with her, I was workin’ her stock-room, discreet, same like usual: from the back of her stacks into the back of our trunk. But then when Raylene an’ Shawna had this major fuckin’ row, she pretended like she didn’t know. I mean did Raylene seriously think I’d been hangin’ out in them fag meetings in that ratty back room, or with the church freaks out front maybe? Seemed to think, like, I’d been watchin’ cable for three fuckin’ months! And then she wanted us to give it all back?
All the stuff we could unload I’d already passed to Pop, but when I opened the boxes some stuff were no good, or faggy, or just weird. I mean if you’re gonna have a box full of rubber dickies why not just say so instead of calling ’em Dildos? They was all sizes and colors and when I opened it I like to lost my lunch: thinkin’ Shawna’d cut ’em off of guys for real. I were shit scared ’til I saw how some had like these sucker things on, and then I saw how they was molded. Anyhow, no way was I passin’ those to Pop! And handcuffs? He’d-a figured we was turnin’ over the Pigs! Or maybe a hospital, with them rubber shorts - and then sure as shit he’d’ve figured we maybe got an in to the pharmacy, and he’d-a asked, and kept on ’til he pounded the fag angle out and then he would’ve gotten a bug up his ass on account of it, like usual.
So I dug down through all that weird shit ’till I found what I was looking for. I guess we could’ve unloaded ’em, but they was so pretty I’d kept ’em as my cut. Then when Raylene went crazy it didn’t seem so smart to flash ’em about after all.
The white jeans short-shorts were prettier’n I remembered: printed in back like the flag, only in pink, and the stars was all little hearts. They were real tight, but kinda stretchy, just a little bit. I had to suck in my tummy to button up, and I was real careful with the zip, on account of bein’ free-ballin’, and glad for once I ain’t so big in the front, yet.
The legs was made to look like they was rolled, an’ when I turned round to look in the closet mirror, I could see they were real short, just hardly below my butt-cheeks - there was even just this little flash of white curve showin’ above my tan. I only got this stupid little skinny-ass, but lookin’ over my shoulder, I could see how them shorts was kinda liftin’ up my buns, you know? So it looked maybe a bit pretty? I bent over, some, lookin’ at how the middle was pulled way up into my ass-crack, an’ just like that I was rememberin’ how Bill put his hand there, just before I messed up on the kissin’, and that kind of gave me an itchy tingle back there. Weird.
My tummy growled, so I quit messing about and dug in the sack again, looking for the tops what I’d boosted. I was tempted by a pretty yeller one that I knew would just pop my tan. It had glittery writin’ on, and I puzzled it out: “$ale” on the front, and “Rent” on back, but I figured today was gonna get too hot for Spandex. So I switched it for this baggy promo crop-top: a band, with like guys playin’ guitars an’ shit, only done like those wall paintings they got in churches in Europe, you know? Like we done for art class? Anyhow, on the back it had a real hard word, “Cru-ci-fi-ed” which I figgered was maybe made up, like a band name? Kind of dumb, though: I near put it back in the sack once I finally spelled it all out, thinkin’ maybe I was sayin’ I was “cootie-fied” or something. But it were in big bad-ass lettering like for a biker and the front was way cool. I liked how it were almost like being bare since the sleeves was all funky ripped-out and it only come down to just above my belly-button.
Them short shorts were real tight, but I could just wriggle the essentials into a front pocket. Felt nice, like I was goin’ boostin’ with Raylene again: I still minded her, leastways from before when she was such a bitch, anyhow.
I kicked into my beach sandals an’ grabbed my ipod - Pop let me keep it on account of only the radio works. I let myself out real quiet - well, ’cept my tummy gurglin’ - even though I knew nothin’ short of a rock concert was gonna wake any of my folks afore noon.
One of the great things about working construction was that it started so early. Bill loved the fresh scent of morning, as though the world had been created anew each day. One of the downsides, as these days Mary continually pointed out, was that the work wasn’t regular. He’d finished a job the day before, and now he could really do with a new contract or something to occupy his mind until this business with Mary blew over.
Oh well, no sense in sitting here, he thought, as he started the engine and shifted into gear. The last thing he wanted was to be presented with another “honey do” list right now, given their tendency to snarl at each other.
He pulled away, driving with no particular destination in mind, drumming his fingers on the wheel in time to the light dance station playing on the pick-up’s stereo, and wishing he had some useful destination other than that angry house dropping away behind him.
He turned onto the highway, the long straight stretch of cement gleaming blue-shadowed in the early sunlight, the traffic sparse. In the distance, he could see a figure walking through the scrubby verge at the side of the road and felt a pang of sympathy: hell of a place to break down and have to walk for aid.
And now for that huge army of lovers out there, here’s a little something for the early morning...
“...I’m Crucified, Crucified like my Savior; saint-like behavior...”
Bill smiled, humming along to the lyrics; imagining Mary’s shock at the blasphemy. She didn’t used to be so humorless: before she joined the pastor’s fight against those people she’d been as capable of seeing the funny side of anything as himself. But she’d become so driven: even the success in closing down that sleazy sex shop hadn’t really given her any pleasure, it seemed. The group just expressed its grim approval and then turned their attention to the next item on the agenda: “Prayer Pods.” Yeah! Let’s move God out into the community. It had ended up driving another wedge between himself and Mary, though: he’d finally stopped stop attending the group, unable to take their righteous enthusiasm for the Pods’ success with a straight face whilst also remembering his construction buddies’ enthusiasm for the “free makeout spaces” the church was suddenly providing across town. Apparently all it took was a strategically placed wad of gum and you could stay as long as you wanted. He wondered how the hot-sheet hotels were going to phrase their complaint.
The perspective shifted as Bill drew closer, and abruptly he realized that what he’d mistaken for a distant adult, was in fact a shaggy-haired blond kid. He slowed, concerned. The kid wasn’t hitching, just walking - or perhaps dancing would express it better, singing along to some tune: graceful wrist gestures and sexy shoulders brushed by those gorgeous curls as he tilted his head. Bill felt his mouth gape and his crotch swell as his gaze descended, zoom-pulled by sensual hip-swishes as he drew closer. New-found admiration of those slim boy-curves swelled in him at the sight of those long, lean, legs, smooth-gleaming in the new day: pure joy rising to heaven as praise.
“...life-time I praaay...”
He was just passing the boy, so Bill bipped the horn and pulled over a little way further on, trying to ignore his sweating palms. He wasn’t going to do anything: it wasn’t like one single pot-fueled encounter had made him a danger to children goddammit! What if he drove on by and later some real crazy...
...hurt him. Just the vague thought was enough to knot his stomach. Boys were too precious to let the Great Pedo Panic scare the decent guys away. And he was: he was a decent guy.
Bill turned down the radio and leaned across to open the passenger door, mustering his best friendly - stranger smile as the boy approached.
“Hi -” Bill began, squinting a little against the sun as the boy came to the door and looked in. He heard himself gasp. This was the first time he’d seen Shayne’s hair dry, and now the longing to tousle those beautiful, wild golden curls was a sudden physical itch in his fingertips. The shining spirals hung down in casually erotic disarray, framing that solemn, shadowed angel’s face with glory. With the morning sunlight behind the boy, the fine tendrils around his head blazed: burning bright and hurtful to look upon.
Blinking, Bill found his voice again. “Uh - Shayne! Are you okay, little buddy?”
The boy’s lightening grin dazzled him again and Bill could only gape as Shayne flicked his earplugs out and let them dangle, white wires caressing his smooth honey-tan neck, just where he wanted to run his tongue.
“Hiya,” Shayne said, a little blush starting along his cheeks, his lovely brown eyes sparkling. “You goin’ to Freddie MacBee’s?”
Bill shrugged. “The burger place? I could.” Could! “Sure, hop in, kid. Why - um: you need the phone, or something?”
“Nah,” Shayne said as he clambered in. “’S for breakfast. We ain’t got nuthin’ in the house, on account of my si- uh, well we ain’t, anyhow.” He clunked the door shut, and seemed to make a production out of testing it, his cheeks flushed.
Okay, so it was the boy he’d abused in a drug induced haze yesterday. That didn’t mean he was going to do it again.
“Wouldn’t the food all get cold by the time you’ve carried it back home?” Bill said, turning his head and pretending to look out the window.
Privately he felt appalled at the parents who’d let such a young kid walk into town unsupervised. Unprotected. From people like him. He flicked the turn-signal.
Shayne giggled at his shoulder. “No, I’m gonna eat it there, stupid!”
Lord, everything about this boy was so beautiful. His voice was achingly lovely: pure as a flute.
Distantly Bill was aware of a flurry of movement, but had to focus on traffic, which of course was suddenly busy now. He tuned out what the kid was saying, watching two trucks that seemed to be playing lane-tag.
Shayne’s voice became audible again as the trucks blasted past. “...real sorry, mister - I, uh-”
“For what?” Bill said absently, still staring in his mirror and judging the moment. He pulled out. “And I’m Bill, remember?” He grinned across at his young passenger, surprised to see him curled in the far corner, at the very furthest end of the bench seat, hugging his knees. He found himself momentarily distracted by the sight of the boy’s slender, honey-gold legs, smooth all the way up to...
Holy moly! The kid was wearing hot pants! Bill jerked his attention back to the road, heart thumping in his chest, and only then belatedly registering that the kid was frightened.
“Hey,” Bill said. “Why’re you scared, angel?” He risked another glance across, trying not to notice the sexy tan-line revealed by the boy’s micro short shorts and failing. Good to see my little cutie’s calming down. Wonder what the heck spooked him?
Mentally, Bill hit himself upside the head. Of course he’s spooked - you’ve been ogling him like the lecherous pervert you are, you moron!
“Uh,” he said, feeling sick that he’d scared the kid: groping for some sort of apology, “- would you like to, ummm, join me for breakfast?” Bill said. “My treat.” Yeah, like no pervert ever used, that line before! he thought, trying to ignore the throbbing in his shorts
“Yeah? Like, for real?” Out of the corner of his eye, Bill saw Shayne uncurl completely, eyes wide like he’d just won the lottery. “An’ we can sit at a table an’ all - sittin’ together?”
“Sure,” Bill said, wondering why the kid made such a point of it, then: “Oh,” as the hooker uniform of crop-top and hotpants registered. No wonder the kid had given such excellent head in his kitchen yesterday! Was that only yesterday?
The realization made him relax: well, all except one part of himself. It was a huge relief knowing that he hadn’t corrupted this boy: that he must be quite capable of looking after himself - as if any guy wouldn’t melt in the gaze of those Bambi eyes anyway.
The glimpse of the boy’s beatific profile was a slap. Bill swallowed, humbled.
Only yesterday he’d accepted this - Angel - as a divine messenger and now he dared: dared to think he had learned all he must? The road shimmered as Ben fought to keep from lowering his head. I abase myself in gratitude, Lord, that you should step out of your way for sinner so lost that you need send your angel unto me, for I am a man blind and deaf without your aid.
Bill jumped as he felt Shayne’s sweet breath on his face.
“You okay, Bill? I’m sorry - it’s okay, we can sit in the lot, I don’t mind, ’ceptin’ you’ll sit with me? Else it’s real hurtful.”
Bill glanced aside from the road and found the boy had scooted up close again, frightened and anxious. Slipping his arm around those slender shoulders was so natural, he’d done it before the impulse reached conscious thought.
“Sure Angel,” he said, and felt the boy give a little sigh and cuddle closer. He just felt so right, there. “We can sit together, right in the window if you like.”
“All sittin’ down? Like, proper eatin’ - same as on TV? An’ no swearin’?”
“Sure,” Bill said, wondering why the - uh, well, why he would swear in the Presence. “Yeah. You like Freddie MacBurger’s don’t you?” he said, turning into the almost empty lot.
“Yeah!” He felt the boy nodding, his hair brushing against his chest, his voice soft. “They got Birfdays.”
“Oh.” Bill found himself regretting the early hour, suppressing an urge to circle the lot, just to put off the moment he’d have to take his arm from around the boy’s firm warmth. “You go on your birthday, huh?” he said, reluctantly slowing to pull into a space.
“No.” The boy seemed uncomfortable. “But only ’cos it’s shut then!”
“But-” the pick-up’s brakes squeaked as Bill trod on the brake, hard, jerking them forward. “You mean your birthday’s Christmas Day?”
“Yeah? So?” Shayne pulled out from under his arm and scowled from under his ringlets. “It’s just a fuckin’ day, innit?”
“Oh. Yes.” His Angel was absolutely right: it was just a day; picked by the Church to replace the pagan midwinter festival. And he shall speak truth unto you.
“I, um-” Bill found himself shaking with awe, “s-suppose you get people saying ’...and this is for both your birthday and Christmas,’ don’t you?” He knew he was babbling, but couldn’t seem to help it.
The boy just hunched a small shoulder, staring down at the floor. Bill found himself focusing: the scene imprinting like a photograph. His Angel: so obviously also a human boy. One who gets pissed off about being cheated out of presents. Bill smiled, shivering with that after-thunder feeling; the awe not lessening, but retreating.
“Well, maybe it’s not your birthday, but how about a Smiley Meal?” So easy. So natural.
Shayne looked up. “Like, with a balloon an’ all?”
“Sure, with a balloon.” Ben felt his newfound smile spreading at the boy’s obviously increasing excitement, and set the parking brake with a hard pull. “Come on, then.”
Shayne scrambled out of the pick-up and then waited with barely concealed impatience as Bill locked up. Bill found himself grinning and mentally rolling his eyes when he noticed the back of his Angel’s shirt. He’d long suspected, on the basis of a considerable amount of church decoration and numerous truly tasteless dawns, that his creator had a penchant for kitsch overstatement. Okay, I get it, he thought. You can quit banging me over the head now. He shivered, not unpleasantly, as a cool refreshing breeze blew over his arms and back.
“Hey, cutie,” Bill said, covertly admiring the boy’s slender, smooth legs as he stood, jigging with impatience, wiggling the most perfectly packaged denim peach of an ass Bill had ever seen. Angel or not, he felt his cock go from “Huh?” to “Yes Sir!” in two painful heartbeats.
Shayne looked around and Bill saw the most mischieveous expression invade his cute face as Bill grappled with his unruly man-meat: trying to wedge the most enormous woodie he’d ever had beneath the elastic of his boxers. He wiggled his little butt and giggled.
“Stop doing that, you little devil!” Bill said, trying to hold down his chuckles as he imagined how ridiculous he must look. “You wiggle that any more and I’m heading straight to the restroom for relief!”
“Yeah?” Shayne struck a new sexy attitude. “With me?”
“No!” Bill said, laughing: “You only get to eat burger sauce!” Now where had that come from?
Shayne giggled. “Oh. Okay then. No deal!” He skipped the two steps between them and held out his hand, eyes sparkling. “I ain’t gonna wiggle ’til it’s gonna do me some good!”
The boy’s slender hand hung suspended. No doubt Angels were invulnerable, but one look into those widening, suddenly serious Bambi eyes told him that Shayne was not. Quit fighting! Bill told himself.
“Okay then.” Forcing calm, Bill slipped his hand over Shayne’s small cool one, marvelling at the sensual feeling of the boy’s fingers sliding between his own. How could a connection so intimate be a public act? He moved his hand down, drawing the boy closer.
Shayne’s stomach growled and Bill realized he was standing in the lot of his local burger joint, holding hands with an emotional, very visible sissy-boy, and smiling down into the most beautiful eyes on the planet.
He squeezed Shayne’s hand, blessing his early morning habits. “I think once we’re inside, you’d better call me ’Uncle’, okay?”
Shayne gulped audibly. “Yes, Uncle Bill,” he said.
They strolled in through the bank-style plate-glass doors, beneath Freddie MacBurger’s proud boast: Finally serving the community.The interior was bright white, with furnishings in plastic primary colors, and hidden speakers tinkled a muzak version of “Money, Money, Money.”
The fry-clerk was a slender, asian youth, whom Bill pegged as a student working the night shift to stretch his student loan. He hoisted an end-of shift smile onto his lean, pleasant face and produced their food with quiet efficiency; seeming to take pleasure in his neat graceful movements.
Shayne’s antics with the balloon warmed the clerk’s smile into something very kissable, in Bill’s opinion: an opinion he felt to be noticed, judging by the soft blossoming of shyness on their server’s part.
A whispered request and a look of overt pleading on Bill’s behalf secured an under-the-counter deal; strictly reserved for birthdays. Bill suffered a pang of alarm; not least at the knowing, sympathetic look the clerk gave him.
Hell, Bill thought as he carried the laden tray in the wake of Shayne’s taut, flexing little buns, It’s not as if he’s going to be any more obvious in a cardboard crown.
Shayne chose a windowed corner table, sidewise on to the main restaurant, with views out over both the lot and, to the side, over the outside restrooms. He squealed delight at the crown, and at once wanted Bill to fix it up, so Bill sat on the bench beside him, facing the window onto the lot.
The light cardboard proved no match for Shayne’s bouncy curls, though. “Only gold good enough, it seems,” Bill said dropping the crown onto the table in front of them.
“Yeah!” Shayne said, nodding his mop-top, and then: “Will you cuddle me, u-uncle Bill?”
Bill grinned and slipped a carefully casual arm around the boy’s shoulders, only to discover that the public Uncle-Nephew intimacy he’d envisioned had little to do with Shayne’s intentions. The boy scooted up close on the bench-style seat, and Bill felt the warmth of his small warm side pressed against him from mid-calf to chest. Bill looked down into the wicked, upward glance of a tilted dark eye, and a small, dawning smile. He sucked in a swelling breath: Shayne had dimples!
Shayne looked down, breaking the contact. “I wanna kiss you so bad,” he whispered.
Bill swallowed. “Yeah, me too.” He moved a fingertip softly over the smooth curve of Shayne’s half-bare little shoulder, and then gave it a companionable squeeze, smiling as the boy’s stomach gurgled again. “Meanwhile, I think somebody’s trying to get your attention.”
Shayne ignored it. “You wanna? I’m sorry I messed up the kissin’, before.”
“Sure I want to - but I couldn’t help but give you a really private kiss, if we started here.” He felt Shayne give a little sigh. “What?” he asked.
The boy was quiet a moment. “Nuffin’,” he said, finally. He sat up slightly, and turned his attention to his smiley meal.
Bill noticed the boy’s lips part as he reached out with both hands to take possession, his fingers stroking the bright yellow styrofoam box as though it were infinitely precious.
“Here,” Bill said, dropping a plastic packet on the table as the boy placed the meal softly in front of himself. “I got you cutlery, as you asked.” He scooted the tray out from beneath his own “Meaty Breakfast Meal,” and smiled as he saw Shayne open the pack and place knife and fork neatly in position. He followed suit, and then became aware that his angel was waiting, expectant. Of course.
Bill bowed his head. “Lord, we humbly accept from your bountiful grace all offered here.” A soft breath from his angel.
Veteran of a thousand fast-food breakfasts, Bill expertly gripped the sides of his tray, and pressed. The lid popped off, performing a neat half-gainer and landing exactly in front of him on the other half of the table: Shayne crowed delight.
“Would’ve gotcha if I’d sat opposite,” Bill said. “That’s the trouble with those clamshell-style boxes: no firepower.”
“Yeah,” said Shayne, likewise popping his box: “-but I got a real toy - look!” He held up the cheap red plastic car, his face glowing with delight.
“C’mon.” Bill elbowed him. “I’m curious - I’ve never seen anyone eat a burger with a knife and fork before.” Shayne flashed him a startled look. “Kidding!” Bill said, elbowing him again. “Eat it proper boy-style.”
Shayne grabbed a handful of fries and wrinkled his nose. “I got to do the yukky bit first, though,” he said, cramming the fries into his mouth.
Bill watched, amused, as the boy delicately lifted the top of his burger and peeled off the pickle, tomato and lettuce.
“Not a vegetable fan, huh?” Bill gestured at his platter. “You want some of my sausage in that?”
It was only when Shayne looked up at him that Bill spotted his double entendre. He felt himself flushing - and swelling - and saw Shayne’s dimple again.
“Yeah?” Shayne said, posting another fry into his mouth and then slipping his hand below table height. “Bet we could, you know.” His grin was all boy-challenge.
Caution urged Bill in one direction, but Shayne’s warm hand rubbing his erection through his pants, plus the look in those wide baby browns told him to grab the chance. Besides, the look in Shayne’s eyes surprised him: naughty-scared; excited; those emotions he expected to see. But - hopeful? Where did that less than one hundred percent confidence come from?
It seemed incredible to Bill that so beautiful a boy, who could surely have any guy he wanted with a mere lift of his brow, could feel less than - wanted?
He held the boy close, and slid his hand up over his slender shoulder until his hand was cupping Shayne’s cheek in a gesture of tenderness way beyond public prudence: he saw salt crystals on the boy’s lips and imagined the taste as he kissed them off.
He saw a little smile curve, a shadow that became a dimple. Then all he could see were golden curls as Shayne looked down, his soft cheek brushing the palm of Bill’s hand, his sweet breath caressing Bill’s fingers.
Shayne’s fingers squeezed his hardness again.
Bill drew breath. “I really like you, you know,” he whispered. “I want to keep meeting you.” He felt a little shiver run through the boy, who heaved out a half-broken breath.
“Mushy stuff,” Shayne whispered, still squeezing Bill’s hard-on. “But you think, I’m, like: not bad?”
“Oh, yes, Angel,” Bill said to the soft halo of curls, “- I’d agree to ’Not Bad’ for now. You’re not bad.”
“Hah.” The boy’s voice turned flat. “Don’t know ’bout that.”
Distracted by what the boy meant, it took Bill a moment to work out what Shayne was doing. Then he felt a warm little hand dive into his pants, curl around the bare flesh of his hard, throbbing cock and twitch it out into the cool air.
“Ssshh.” Shayne was already twisting, sliding down out of his seat, and now Bill appreciated how clever the boy had been. With the windows in front of him and to his left, and his big adult body blocking the view from the restaurant on the right - which his panicked glance confirmed as now a little more full - nobody could clearly see whether the boy was in his seat or not.
Bill looked down at his lap, at the boy’s hand curled loosely around the base of his rampant cock, and beyond to the reflected gleam of dark eyes and small white boy teeth, now softly biting the pink pillow of their underlip. “Bad, no,” Bill said. “But totally wicked...” He lifted a hand and waggled it. Shayne’s grin returned, delighting him.
He watched as Shayne kissed the tip of his dick and then slowly, teasingly engulfed the head, the width of it progressively stretching the boy’s mouth in a horizontal O, his pouting upper lip sliding down over the gleaming, tight-pumped skin. The boy’s tongue stroked delicately at the base of Bill’s cockhead, and then Bill’s view disappeared behind golden curls as he felt the wet, sucking heat descend.
Bill fought the urge to lean back, hunching forward and putting his arms on the tabletop instead. It was amazing the amount of concentration it took to pick up his cutlery instead of focusing on the hot wet friction around his cock.
“Mmh,” Bill said. “Oh, that’s good!”
He speared a hash brown with a trembling hand; suppressed a gasp as he felt the boy take his cock deeper; lifted a crumb to his lips.
He swallowed a groan as he felt Shayne expertly sucking most of his hard length - not quite silently. Bill felt himself getting even harder at the little breaths, slurps and soft mouth sounds he could just hear beneath the muzak.
Pushing his food about on his plate, Bill spread his legs, feeling small, firm hands massaging his slippery meat: felt soft breath and the touches of kisses from little lips and then the warm return of sucking smoothness.
Shayne’s mouth moved on him a little faster; quicker tongue caresses teasing Bill’s excitement higher. He choked back a moan as his little demon worked him, sucking harder -
Bill felt his hips twitch and hunched forward, hearing a little grunt of effort from below, then feeling that incredible torturous pleasure again - how did the boy do that?
“Oh!” Bill sucked in breath as that teasing, bobbing heat tortured his aching hardness; slow, increasing suction and then a shocking gasp of cold air across his cock. And a little giggle.
“Wicked!” Bill gasped as he felt the boy stuff his mouth full again. He pumped his hips and felt Shayne respond, not sure which one of them was moaning as the boy accelerated their pleasure, teasing Bill first with his tongue and then the hard roof of his little mouth.
Faster now: the kid was really working him! Bill couldn’t help himself: his hips seemed to have a will of their own as he humped into the boy’s mouth. Shayne’s muffled moan vibrated along his cock, encouraging him, and it took all of Bill’s willpower to keep his hands above the table, so badly did he want to stroke that sexy skin; to trace the shape of the boy’s shoulders; to feel the muscles of his neck; to cradle the boy’s head in his hands and pump his cock deep into that sexy mouth.
Bill felt muscles tensing. His cock felt iron hard and his balls heavy and full. He loved how Shayne was fondling them with one small hand while pumping his meat with the other, urging him on.
He couldn’t help it. Bill leaned his weight on his elbows, lifted his ass off the seat and began to fuck that hot little cave, humping faster; increasingly turned on by the vibrating moans that came from below; the soft bump-bump of Shayne’s head against the underside of the table.
“Oh! Oh-fuck!” Bill gasped, feeling himself losing it: “Gonna cum!”
He gritted his teeth, one hand grasping the curved edge of the table as he convulsed, his cock thrusting deep into the boy’s mouth, squirting his offering in a half-agonized blast of ecstasy.
“Ahh! Mmmmnng!” Bill bit his lip, his leg muscles cramping, trying not to scream from the pleasure as he came again, hard, whimpering from the sensations as Shayne’s warm, wet-cushioning mouth swallowed his gradually less violent spurts.
Bill let himself drop down onto the hard plastic bench, his muscles twitching, shaking from the release. His left hand hurt: at some point he’d gripped Shayne’s unused cutlery and snapped it.
“Unbelievable,” Bill breathed, slipping a hand beneath the table to tousle Shayne’s hair. The boy sighed and leaned against his leg.
Bill felt rhythmic little bumping movements. He leaned back and peered beneath the table. Shayne looked up, panting, eyes heavy-lidded, his reddened, swollen lips half open.
“Are you rubbing yourself?” Bill whispered.
“Uhuh.” The boy rolled his head back and forth along Bill’s thigh, licking his swollen, pink lips, his hand movements faster. “Haah! Haah!” he panted.
Bill tried to stroke the boy’s neck - or anywhere, really, but the angle was awkward, and he was afraid he might jab the boy’s eye or something. So he contented himself with blocking the other customers view and whispering encouragement and endearments, telling Shayne how sexy and beautiful he was.
He heard Shayne’s breathing catch; felt the boy shiver. Bill risked a quick look and saw Shayne squeezing his eyes shut, biting his lips and whimpering, shivering and bumping the back of his head against Bill’s leg.
Finally the boy’s shivering and squeaking stopped and he slumped, breathing heavily. “Fuck, but you taste nice, Bill!” he whispered.
“Next time you’re squeaking like that, I want to have my arms round you, okay?” Bill said. Shayne’s lips curved in a little smile.
“Yeah, that’d be real cool, Bill.” He looked up. “But I reckon we better get outta here.”
“Not,” Bill said, “before you’ve finished your burger!”
* * *
Hope you enjoyed that!
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