(C)Tooluser October 2010
This story is fiction, and any resemblance to real people or places is entirely coincidental.
Hope you like it,
Okay. I know I ain’t so smart. I’m sittin’ in Bill’s pick-up so I know he’s gonna come back, okay? Only sitting and watching as he’s walking outta sight there’s a part of me what don’t believe it and’s hurting real bad, like he’s got some invisible line tied around me. It’s pulling and pulling like to tear my insides right out. I’m tellin’ you: if it weren’t that I was bare-assed and it would have gotten him in trouble, I’d have run right after him and stayed close as I could.
All of which got me to thinkin’. See, it’s been real nice of Bill, letting me hang out with him and suck him, and fucking me just like I asked, but how long’s he gonna put up with me hanging around? With my folks, it ain’t but a few minutes afore I’m making them crazy and they’re yelling for me to fuck off and go do stuff somewheres else and get outta their hair. I used to think with Raylene it was maybe different; and I liked goin’ working with her, but she don’t like me neither.
It was kind of a sick feeling, realizing that Bill wasn’t gonna take any more kindly to having some stupid kid trailing him around, and that one day I was gonna have to watch him doing that walking away for real. I tried real hard to think of a single reason for Bill to go on likin’ me, and I come up empty every time.
My throat got all kinda sore, what with me wanting to cry so, and I doubled up, just swallowing over and over to keep that burger and stuff down. It wasn’t just that if I spit up now I knew I’be hungry later, on account of we were in a new place and I couldn’t get to any of my secret food hideys in the trailer park, but on account of it was Bill what bought it for me too.
Bending down like that, I seen a bit of white on the floor, and I grabbed it up thinkin’ to wipe my eyes and it’s that durned paper napkin with the phone number on it.
What with dodging the Snoops so much, I been to a lot of different schools; so it ain’t I got stuck with a crappy one or nothin’. It’s just I’m dumb, so readin’ and figuring is kinda slow and hard work for me. Had me a teacher once, Mizz Harper, and I thought she liked me real good ’til I heard her tellin’ another teacher how I was “remedial.” That’s like a retard, so I guess it’s official.
Like Pop says: ain’t nothin’ harder than trying to teach a pig to whistle, so I don’t do schoolin’ so much no more. Anyhow I had the time now, and I reckoned I’d better know than not, so I sat and spelled out all what was writ on that napkin. It said: “Call me for a coffee?” and then his cellphone number, and “Lee.” Well, I ain’t so dumb as to think coffee was all Bill was gonna get.
I sat there, thinking about this “Lee.” Tall, and that nice, sexy kind of skinny that guys go for. You know, not nice big muscles like Bill’s got, but kinda wiry? Nice hair what I could see under that cardboard hat – black and real shiny, tied back in a pony-tail. And employed, and he could do reading and figuring with that fancy register (well, ’cepting when Bill smiled at him, and I couldn’t blame him for that!) so he weren’t dumb. A real nice smile what I wanted to bust in, and I’d have been a lot happier if I could remember him having any zits, but he didn’t. Might as well wish he’d had a fake eye and a wooden leg, too!
All of which was stupid, because Bill was off walking around the mall, and who knows how many other boys had hit on him already? I started feeling real weird, scared he was doing that “senshal” with some other boy right now. I tried to guess what it could be. Red told me all them fifty-dollar names for stuff – you know: doing “intercourse” for makin’ babies, and how when they say in the bible about sodomy they’re meaning corn-holin’. There’s fancy names for suckin’; doin’ it with dogs; dressing up and all kinds of weird stuff too. I tried to guess from the name – it sounded kinda like maybe the military, you know? “This is my Senshal,” so I guessed it was maybe some of that SM stuff where guys got to do exactly what they’re told and all. I tried to think how I didn’t care; and kind of make a deal where he could do this senshal with all the other boys on the planet, if he’d just do that nice kissin’ and touching and cuddling only with me.
* * *
When Bill returned to the car, Shayne was sitting quietly, his hands folded in his lap, such grace in every line of his body that Bill’s fingers itched for a pencil. The boy’s beautiful honey-gold tan warmed with a delicate flush along his cheekbones as he noticed Bill admiring him, and he ducked his head and looked up shyly through the golden tangle of his curls, small white teeth tormenting the plump pinkness of his lower lip.
“What is it, Bill?” Shayne said, dark chocolate eyes wide and serious. “Why’re you lookin’ at me so funny? I ain’t done nuffin’, honest!”
“It’s nothing like that,” Bill said as he slid into the driving seat. “Here.” He passed over a gaudy plastic bag. “For you.”
The boy’s lovely brown eyes sparkled. “For me?” Shayne squeaked, his beautiful skin flushing from his throat to the roots of his hair. He fumbled open the bag and pulled out the charcoal gray cargo knee-pants, his mouth dropping open. “And you got undies, too!” he exclaimed, diving back into the bag. “Why’d you get two sorts, Bill?”
“I didn’t – look again.”
“Oh! They’re Speedos! Wow! Rocket ships! Can I put ’em on, Bill?” Shayne was wriggling in the seat with excitement.
“That’s the idea – now you won’t have to swim naked in my pool anymore.” Bill said, hoping his voice sounded casual enough.
Shayne looked up, one foot already through the leg-hole. “You mean it? I can come over and swim in your pool? Every day?”
“Well, every day I’m alone – I’ll have to ask my wife about the other times.” Bill paused, cold realization dawning. “If your mother agrees, of course.” Damn! He could kick himself – strange man arrives home with their son bringing food: okay he’s a neighbor, it’s a maybe. But also buys their extremely cute son new clothes? Ding-a-ling-a-ling! Pedo alert!
Bill was sure his face must have betrayed what he was thinking, but at the mention of his mother, Shayne had just hunched a shoulder and returned to the much more exciting task of putting on his new Speedos. Bill suppressed a groan: bright scarlet Spandex printed with phallic rocket ships! Did he have a death-wish or something? He might as well turn himself in at the police station – Damn!
Or, rather – Hot damn! Bill felt his mouth dry as Shayne slid the briefs up his slender legs and then wiggled in the seat as he pulled them up over the taut curve of his delicious butt. The material perfectly accented his neat little package, and the bright color emphasized the slenderness of his hips.
“They fit just perfect, Bill – look!” Shayne turned to him, excited, and for a ghastly moment Bill thought the boy was going to kneel up on the seat.
“Don’t show me here!” Bill hissed, scanning the lot. “Put your new pants on!”
“Oh, sorry Bill. I guess you can look later.” Shayne rummaged in the bag again. “A shirt too!” He looked up at Bill, a scrap of paper in his hand, his eyes shining. “And you bought ’em all for me?”
“Sorry.” Bill reached over and took the receipt. “I didn’t mean to leave that in there. Just put your new things on, huh?”
Eagerness visible in his every action, Shayne did so. Of course, Bill was distracted once again at the sight of the boy’s smooth beauty as he pulled his tee-shirt off: the curve of his little muscles beneath that fine skin, the lovely brown nubbins on his chest, the humped ridges of his lean little tummy and the oval shadow of his innie belly-button. Bill had to restrain himself from pulling the boy close and nuzzling his neck. He imagined smelling the particular fragrance of Shayne’s hair and skin; of feeling once again the firm, compact warmth of his body. As well as the intense sexual pleasure, and the sensual joy of exploring his little body, Bill was conscious of how protective he’d felt all the time he’d been holding Shayne: as though he could interpose his big body between the boy and the world.
Not that Shayne needed it; he noticed that the boy had recovered the napkin with his next trick’s number on it, and tried to push down his jealousy. It hurt to think how much of what they’d done together had just been, well, professionalism on Shayne’s part.
“What d’you think, Bill? You like it?” Shayne was preening. He seemed really excited, and proud of his new clothes too.
Bill looked the boy over and swallowed. Where before Shayne’s tight pants and revealing baggy crop-top had given him a sluttiness that – well, okay, it was sexy – now, wearing good but “ordinary” clothes, Shayne seemed “all boy.” Except when trying to avoid punishment, no boy ever looks completely innocent, but Shayne now looked as though the only thing he might be guilty of was filching an extra cookie. He looked the sort of boy who’d come home filthy from playing in the forbidden wonderland of some boarded up old house and proudly show you his scraped knee while casually describing adventures to make any parent’s blood run cold. A real boy.
Only the sparkle in the lovely warm brown eyes that watched him from behind that wild blond tangle and the subtle strawberry milkshake curve of his kissable lips hinted at naughtiness; the playful sensuality of a puppy coupled with a knowing intelligence and the natural warmth of a boy’s generous heart. Bill looked, and tried not to sigh like some moonstruck fool, but he was helpless. Shayne was altogether lovely.
But remembering how Shayne got uncomfortable with compliments, Bill just nodded and, once he’d found his voice again, said: “Good. You really wear those clothes well.”
“You picked ’em.” Shayne looked at his reflection and adjusted the collar of his new plaid shirt, fashionably unbuttoned over his white vee necked tee-shirt, and then tugged at it to smooth out the wrinkles. “It’s real clever how they kind of got the same colors, so they go together, ain’t it?”
“Come on,” Bill said, gruffly, aware of how close he was to gushing and embarrassing his little buddy. “Better get you home.”
They arrived at Shayne’s place to find a large “Discount Home Stores” truck parked outside. Two blue-joweled beer-gutted men in coveralls were maneuvering a large bed-frame out of the back, watched by a rather heavy and extremely pregnant young woman with lank, greasy hair. She looked exhausted.
“That’s Raylene!” Shayne said, indicating the young woman. “And our new stuff! We had to leave all our old stuff, on account of it was part of the trailer.” He turned and popped the door, grabbing the paper sack of burgers in his other hand as he did so. “Raylene!” he shouted, jumping down onto the sidewalk and holding the sack up high. “I got breakfast! My friend Bill bought us breakfast!”
Bill felt his stomach clench as he watched the boy run over to the woman, all flying shirt-tails and small bare feet, and swallowed. There was no help for it now. He gave a last, hard pull to the parking brake, got out, and followed the boy over, still wondering how he was going to explain Shayne’s new clothes.
“This is Bill,” Shayne said. “He’s our neighbor next door -” he pointed, “an’ Bill, this is my sister Raylene.”
Up close, Bill could see how tired and drawn Shayne’s sister looked. It made her look older, and he found himself revising his first estimate of her age downwards, wondering how her pregnancy was affecting her college studies.
“You look tired,” he said. “Should you be standing out here like this?”
“Ain’t got nothing to set on,” she said. “Not ’til the other truck comes, anyhow.”
“Oh.” Bill moved aside to let the men carrying the bed-frame pass. “Well, Shayne picked out the burgers because he said they reheated well, so would you like to come next door while we do that?”
She raised an eyebrow, her glance traveling from Bill to her cute little brother and back again, and Bill cursed himself for the casual “we” that had sprung to his lips. He’d known the boy less than twenty four hours, yet it already felt more than natural: inevitable. All she said, though, was:
“Why surely. That’d be real kind.”
Shayne ran to his open front door and yelled in. “Mom! We’re goin’ next door to Bill’s to heat up breakfast!” He jumped back out of the way as one of the mover guys came out.
“Quit that yellin’!” came from inside the house, and a moment later a tired, blonde woman emerged to stand, hand on hip on the doorstep. “Now you tell me what all this racket’s about,” she said, squinting at her son as though she found the light painful.
Even from the bottom of the driveway, Bill could see where his little playmate got his looks from. Shayne’s mother looked weary enough to have been up all night, but her makeup was flawless, if perhaps a little heavy. Even without it, Bill suspected she would be a looker. Perhaps dressed a little young, Bill thought as he walked towards them: the tight, leopard-print jeans, and the loose yellow and brown art-print cotton top would suit a teenager better than her generous womanly curves, but doubtless she’d thrown on old clothes for the dirty chores of moving day. Her shoulder-length, wavy blond hair was Baywatch biker chick, even to the big, round-lensed sunglasses resting atop, but when she turned in response to her son’s pointing finger and saw him, the smile which lit up her face was pure Shayne.
“Pleased t’ meetcha,” she said, holding out her hand as he approached, and it was only then Bill noticed her arms were red from the sun. Well, that explained the heavy make-up, he thought.
“Pleasure, ma’am,” Bill said, careful of her scarlet nails as he took her hand.
She laughed. “Don’t call me ma’am - I don’t never want to be old enough for that to suit. Name’s Marianne Meachum, but all my friends call me Mae, and I’d sure like it if you were one of ’em.” She squeezed his fingers slightly before taking her hand back.
“Why yes, I certainly would!” Bill said, smiling, and then looked down as Shayne thumped him on the leg.
“Bill brung us some burgers, but we ain’t got a microwave hooked up yet, I reckon,” Shayne said to his mom. “So he said as how we can heat ’em up at his place, and Raylene can set awhile, okay?”
“If that’s all right with you?” Bill added.
“Why sure, Bill. That’d be a kindness,” Mae said. Her eyes were dark like Shayne’s but green, and her smile was electric as she pulled the rhinestone-studded sunglasses from out her hair and settled them on her nose.
“But you gotta stay here and watch the movin’ guys,” Shayne added, frowning up at her.
“Why sure, honey. You jus’ run along,” she said.
Bill looked down, startled, as Shayne grabbed his hand. The boy seemed in a real hurry, all of a sudden, urging him down the path. Oh, of course – worried about his pregnant sister. Bill managed an apologetic smile over his shoulder at the boy’s mother as he was dragged away.
Raylene though, seemed okay – in fact, she seemed quietly amused about something. To be fair though, seeing a grown man towed down the path by a kid as determined as Shayne would make anyone laugh.
“Slow down, Shayne,” Bill said as they passed her. “Remember your sister can’t walk so fast.”
“Oh. Uh, yeah,” Shayne said, as though only now remembering her. He looked up sideways at Raylene.
“What you got there?” she said. “Somethin’ real good, I bet.”
Shayne let go Bill’s hand. “You’ll get your share,” he said.
“Of course she will, Shayne,” Bill said. “We bought enough burgers for everyone, remember?”
Raylene guffawed as she waddled along the sidewalk, cradling her belly. “Don’t pay him no mind – Bill, was it? My little pardner there just keeps remindin’ me how many I’m eating for, don’tcha?” She smiled, her upper lip already wet with perspiration. She looked completely unlike Shayne, with her lank, straight brown hair, round face and short nose. It really was amazing how family members could differ so much, Bill thought.
“Yeah, and you keep remindin’ me how many I’m workin’ for!” Shayne said, scowling at her.
“Hush now, you’re glad to be helpin’ out, and you know it.” Raylene was breathing heavily, and Bill was glad they’d almost reached home. He took out his key-case.
“I suppose with your brother away, you have to do more chores, huh?” Bill said, stepping up onto the porch. He reached up and unset the alarm, then swapped keys and unlocked the front door. “Please come in,” he said.
* * *
Bill’s place was nice, with all soft carpets: not sticky or nothin’, and nobody’d punched holes in the doors or bust ’em up. ’Course those doors looked kinda tough – all made of like, this dark browny-red wood, with all gold handles and stuff.
There was a big old picture of a guy in the hallway - I mean real big: taller’n me. He was wearin’ a big red fancy jacket with all gold on the front, and he had one hand inside it like he was scratching his tit. It had big gold coins on ribbons hanging from the top pocket, and gold tassels on the shoulders, too: like what the bar-girls wear. I guessed he was still gettin’ ready to go out, on account of how he’d got no pants on, but only those white underoos like what the hicks wear in wintertime. They would-a shown off the guy’s junk real well, only I guess the painter was too shy to paint it all in. I would-a looked a whole lot longer, only Raylene was shovin’ me in the back and tellin’ me to stop standing there like a dumbass with my mouth open.
Now Raylene, she likes pretty things a whole lot. I don’t mean just stuff to wear, but furniture and paintings and all that. She’s like Mom: can pretty much tell you to the dollar what it’s worth, too.
Bill was standing there holding open the front door like a gentleman, and Raylene she kinda staggered and said could she go sit down. Now I knew she was just hankerin’ to have a look in his front parlor, but she’s only wearing a tee-shirt and stretch pants so she got no pockets and cain’t boost nothin’, so I didn’t see the harm.
Bill’s parlor had these big ol’ couches made of all shiny leather and more pictures on the walls. Mom had a box of candies one time that was just like one of ’em: little British houses with grass on the roof and a river – real pretty. The other picture was of these big flowers floatin’ on the water. Raylene asked, and Bill said yeah, it was painted by some french guy what’s dead. I said how that was kind of a pity, on account of it meant how he was never gonna finish it, and Bill laughed.
So Raylene sat down on the couch and Bill says is she okay and would she like some water or a organic lemon tea? Raylene says how she’s fine now she’s sittin’, though I bet she’s just itching for a cigarette. Anyhow I figure she don’t want any gross old tea what’s made from dead organs any more’n I do.
Raylene was real polite, for her, and asked about this and that. Bill said how the pictures and the old furniture and stuff was all his wife’s. Her folks give it her when they got married. I seen a whole lot nicer tables and stuff when I was going round the Discount Home Store with Pop - I guess her folks’re kinda cheap.
The best thing though, was he had a shandy-leer: you know, like them old-time movies on TV? All sparkly with little round glass raindrops like Mom’s rhinestones hanging up there, and lightbulbs that were kinda pointed and real nice. I wanted to ask Bill to turn it on, only I figured it was just for parties and special occaisions.
Well, I was standing there looking up at the little sparklies and wondering if it went round and round like the glitter-ball at Mom’s club she used to work in, when I heard Bill say how it was a real shame Raylene couldn’t meet his wife and talk art right now, only Mary – that’s his wife – worked all day downtown. Right away I worked out that meant Bill and me was gonna be alone in the kitchen while Raylene looked at all this old stuff what she likes, and I got all tingles again.
Now don’t get me wrong. I knew he probably wasn’t gonna let me suck him or nothin’ - even if he did have some of that rest-sprite soda in the fridge. I was just thinking about how I was gonna stand real close and feel him all warm, and how maybe he’d talk to me some. I tried not to think about him cuddling me or stroking my hair so nice on account of wanting it so bad.
Anyhow, I’m looking at him, and all of a sudden Bill says: “Poor baby – you’re hungry again, right? And here’s me talking about dead guys again.” And he came over and ruffled my hair, and if you’d given me the moon all crusted over with diamonds I couldn’t have been more happier.
* * *
Hope you enjoyed that!
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