Just Futility

 

By Ganymede

 

In 2012, when the future of the USA was a choice between Obama and Romney, I sank into deep depression. Had I voted, I would've written in Spiderman—there would have been less division, and the country needed a superhero, not another self-aggrandizing politician. Instead, I wrote about a future just down the road. Never published, and never intended to be published—it was a cathartic. No plot, just futility, with all the evil of a collapsing society, and two boys, one from a Democrat family, one from a Republican family. Ten years later, my `future world' seems prophetic. Hence, I am making it available to the Nifty Archive, without which I might not have recovered from depression. Give generously, and deduct donations from your taxes, instead of supporting spendthrift politicians. Better yet, leave your estate to Nifty—those relatives really hated you, anyway.

If you're not up for social critique, you might want to read something else. If you're offended, I apologize; however, you don't have to read it.

Saturday

 

The first time I saw him, I was changing the spark plugs in my pickup truck, putting in Evergreen-8s. Two boys pushing mountain bikes stopped at the end of my driveway. I watched them from under the hood. They kept glancing up the driveway, heads together, plotting something that involved me.

They were as different as two boys could be and still be friends. Despite hair that danced on his shoulders, the younger boy was athletic, wiry with tanned muscled arms and scarred knobby knees, a near-perfect nine-point-seven—his girly hair adversely affected my score. But man, was he cute with his thin oval face and elusive blue eyes, so cute that his long hair didn't seem out of place.

His companion was a head taller with pale freckled skin and the out-of-place buzz that his friend should've had. He was a generous three-point-five, perhaps two years older, no pimples, and plump. The politically incorrect truth? He was fat enough to send a bathroom scale into the `200' zone. I roamed the possibilities, thinking `Pork-chop,' `Dough-boy,' or `Big Red'—he would've had auburn hair if it was longer. I hadn't decided on a nickname for him when they started up the driveway.

"Hey Mister, you got a minute," `Cutie' called out.

His voice was an instant erection, a down-home Tennessee twang with a squeak in the middle. My first load of stuff hauled to Paradise Valley, a `mobile' community, and I was about to meet the local prepubescent Adonis. Life couldn't get any better.

From his point of view, he was about to meet a boy-loving pedophile; he just didn't know it.

Heart fluttering, I feasted my eyes and wiped grease on my jeans, ready to shake if the opportunity arose. His body gave new meaning to `lithe,' yet he dawdled up the driveway pushing a made-in-fucking-China kid's bike. It was less than a year old, and already beat up. Bikes like his cost $79 before three years of hyper-inflation and Cap and Trade taxes pushed the price to $299, on sale at Walmart once you got past the pickets. `Big Boy' tagged in the rear, pushing a bike in even worse shape. Its front wheel wobbled. Both bikes had rust spotting the chrome.

"Always got a minute for America's future," I quipped when `Cutie' was close enough to catch.

However, the chance of my catching him was slim to zero; he was that agile. When he grinned, he looked about ten, that miraculous age when a boy can run for an hour and not be tired, bouncing on his toes with energy to spare. On the other hand, his friend could lose 50 pounds and still be chubby. He had a bag of concrete clinging to his middle, with jowls to match. Sports-boy could run circles around him; if he got caught, it would be over in seconds. He'd be squashed like a Mexican stink bug.

"What are you doing?" `Cutie' asked.

"He's changin' his plugs, doofus. You environmentally responsible or somethin', Mister?" `Cream Pie' demanded.

`Cream Pie' worked at breathing, examining the three remaining plugs like they were made of gold. Evergreen-8s had fragile Palladium tips and cost $69.99 each, but a motor misfired like a jackhammer without them—80 percent ethanol made unleaded gas an EPA joke.

"Yeah, Mr. Save-the-trees, that'd be me."

"My mom says GW's a crock."

Fat boy stared twang-boy to silence, but `mom' was right on my humble opinion.

"You guys got nothing else to do on a Saturday morning except talk to strangers?" I asked, mocking impatience.

`Cutie' had an on-the-spot grin that he was willing to share with me. If he'd had the `stranger-danger' lecture, it hadn't sunk in. Up close, he had gray-blue eyes, straight golden-brown hair that played with the sun, and pretty-as-a-girl lips on a mouth that could suck my cock if he wanted. `Cutie' was genetically predisposed to good-looking, no doubt about it.

"His bike's broke, Mister," he drawled despite surprisingly good diction.

His voice thrilled me; it was all I could do to say, "No shit."

`Cutie' grinned. He had the `I'm irresistible' look that pretty boys always have. "You moving in?"

If he'd said `You going to fuck me?' he'd have the same lilt, the same teasing smile, so I'd never be sure if he was joking or not.

"Nope. Just fixin' my truck in some guy's drive. I hope he don't mind."

He kept grinning, showing gaps between pearly white teeth—someone made sure he brushed twice a day. My first impression: poor but not stupid, the victim of surplus bad luck, like me. That first day I thought he was the brains of the duo. He wasn't; just more outgoing and a little bit crazy.

"Well, if you are moving in, we'll be neighbors."

Then, he flashed his dazzling eyes and made the rest of my day by waving his arm at the other side of the road. Paradise Valley was a downwardly mobile middle-class haven, secondhand trailers lined up like dominoes waiting for the next tornado.

"Me too," his fat friend chimed in. He sweated, showing a dark spot under his arm when he pointed.

Directly opposite my foreclosed single-wide were two New Orleans rejects, painted sustainable green with LEED Silver logos stuck on the side—76 feet long with three bedrooms and two tiny bathrooms. They'd cost FEMA $293K each; however, they were deemed too toxic for Louisiana families. After sitting in corn fields for six years, the government recycled them for the Suitable Housing for Every Environment Program. According to rumor, they hadn't touched the formaldehyde. I'd read somewhere that living in a SHEEP trailer took 10 years off your life.

"You got a name, neighbor?" I almost called him `Cutie.' "I'm Randy."

It took a moment for him to get rid of the smirk—he got `randy.' "I'm Jeff. He's Matt."

Matt raised his hand in an awkward salute, keeping his distance. I shook with Jeff, a bony little hand, skin smooth as brown silk, with a baseball-bat grip. He could do real damage to himself when he started to jack. On the other hand, when his buddy wanted to masturbate, he'd be hard-pressed to find it under his belly.

"Nice to meet you, Jeff-ery."

He grinned. "Just Jeff—first and last, and always, it's Jeff." He'd practiced, and added his own special magic.

"Mutt and Jeff, huh?"

"He got it first go," Matt sniggered.

"Nice to meet you too, Mutt," I said. Matt beamed for a handshake. "What's the bike's problem, Dude?"

"It's broke."

"Can we like get past `broke'?" I always scored with boy-talk.

Jeff plopped his bike on the grass. "His wheel's messed up, Mister, um, Randy." Another big smirk—had he ever been shy? "He hit a rock on the trail."

"Let's take a look."

I took a long look at Jeff when I squatted, from his narrow waist down to his knees. Definitely a sports-playing boy, baggy soccer shorts; loose enough that his crotch made a crease. With nothing in sight except slim hairless thighs—deliciously-muscled and nicely tanned for late April; I finally managed to look at the wheel. The end of the fork had snapped off.

"Yeah, you fucked it." Both boys snorted giggles. "I guess you know what `fuck' means, huh?"

"It's when you lose your virginity," Jeff said almost shyly.

"Then, you'd only fuck once, Dipshit. It's any time you stick it in a girl." Matt had the `snigger' part down.

"Yeah, well we won't go there, not till you're legal."

"Most kids do it way before they're sixteen," Matt countered quickly.

"Too true. So how old are you, Stud?"

Matt beamed again. "Twelve and a half. Doofus just turned eleven."

`Doofus' seemed small for eleven.

"So, he's definitely virgin. You, I'm not so sure about."

Jeff snorted guffaws and Matt shook his head, grinning. It didn't take much to please him, just a few friendly words, the occasional smile, a playful shove from his nimble friend. I was easily pleased too, starting with another look at Jeff's middle. The fold in his satiny shorts drew my attention like a magnet. Cloth-crease or cock, I couldn't decide; however, I doubted the latter—eleven-year-old boys had dicks, almost never that large.

Higher, his T-shirt had washing machine holes, a small faded soccer ball on the front, about where his heart was, and a life-size one on the back, starting to peel off. Unless he stole the shirt, his last name was Morgan. When I squinted, I could just see his belly button through one of the holes, not quite an `innie,' not quite an `outie,' lickable cute like the rest of him.

I pursued like a hound dog on scent. "You like kicking balls?"

Jeff giggled until he managed a nod.

"He plays a mean game of soccer," Matt answered, giggling as well.

"That's what I asked. You like kicking balls, huh?"

When Jeff finally got control of himself again, he asked, "So how bad is it..." He mouthed `fucked' with a smirk before brushing bangs from his eyebrows.

"Fucked?" I got him giggling again when I said it out loud for him. "Fork's broke, see." I pointed it out. "Sheared right off. That's metal fatigue for you. Made in China crap! What you guys need is someone who knows how to weld."

The boys looked at each other. Matt looked worried, like the kid in the `turn off the lights' ad. I always felt sorry for him; unable to save the planet because his rich parents left the lights on, using more than their fair share of energy.

"Mom'll be pissed. I only got it last November."

"We can't like glue it back together or something?" Jeff asked.

He squatted down opposite me, knees splayed wide, his shorts pulled up tight, showing off his lean long thighs—definitely soccer player material. Positioned like that, the crease turned into a small, more interesting bulge, big enough that even with shoulder-length hair `boy' wasn't in question.

I glanced away as soon as he noticed me checking out his privates.

"That hair of yours ever get messed up, Hollywood?"

"Yeah." Boy-God grinned.

"His coach makes him wear a headband."

"Just to games."

Blue-steel eyes flickered. For a moment, I thought he was angry. Then, his gaze dropped lower. The little rascal was checking me out in return, and making sure that I saw him doing it.

"He's the team's secret weapon. The other side thinks he's a chick."

That snigger from his fat friend received a dirty look from Jeff. It got me thinking; maybe his manhood was a matter of contention despite the bulge in his shorts.

I stood up, still sneaking peeks, and went through the motion of turning the handlebars. The crease was back and rapidly getting bigger, stretching out the left side. Unless I was mistaken, Jeff-junior was about to poke out the leg of his shorts. He caught my eye again and tugged at the right side, straightening out the unruly disturbance, putting himself in the `up' position so it didn't stick out. Not a moment too soon, he moved to the other side of the bike and fiddled with the rear brake.

"Bring it back tomorrow, I'll have a go at welding it for you." Offer made, I waited.

Matt glanced at Jeff as if he needed permission. I glanced too, in utter disbelief as Jeff gave in and rubbed his fist in his groin. He was nailed, his stiff dick like a fat finger pointing the way to boy-pleasure.

"No promises it'll last." Dragging my gaze back to his buddy. "What you need a new fork. Might find one on eBay, only it'll probably cost more than the whole fuckin' bike."

I went back to changing spark plugs, keeping the noise down to listen in.

Matt whispered, "You really got wood?"

Jeff glanced at me, smirked like he'd been caught raiding the cookie jar. "Yeah, really."

I couldn't hear after that. When they finally stopped whispering and included me, they mostly talked about what was doing at Paradise Valley. The trash went out on Tuesdays, only it wasn't always collected; the cops wouldn't come for domestic disturbances unless shots were fired, that sort of thing.

"You gonna charge him, Randy?" Jeff asked.

His erection had subsided, yet he kept changing feet, nervous as a deer on somebody's lawn. His sneakers were headed for the overflowing recycling dumpster at the corner, shaggy laces undone, holes in the sides. No socks. Knobby knees and ankles. Legs like a racehorse; the kid was built for speed.

"Depends on what position you're in," I said offhandedly, thinking thoughts best left unsaid.

It took a few seconds before he caught on. "Center midfield." He let loose another reliable grin.

"You're that good, huh?"

"He thinks he is," Matt answered quickly. "Whatcha gonna charge for fixin' it, Randy?"

"Nothing this time, Pumpkin. First weld is on the house for mid-fielders' friends. The next one will cost you an arm and a leg. Even more if it's Jeff's bike."

"Why?"

"It'd be free if he got a haircut, only it's got to be a sexy buzz like yours." I winked at Jeff.

"You don't like his hair?" Matt asked.

He kept glancing at Jeff. Jeff kept glancing at me.

"It's okay for a rock star," I replied, meeting shy boy-eyes.

The boys had yet to notice the amplifier sitting on the front seat of my pickup, four big-box black speakers in the rear, enough power for my Dean 30th Anniversary to blow out SHEEP windows.

"What do you do?" Jeff squeaked. He'd been dying to ask.

"I fix kid's bikes. If I'm lucky I make enough to eat at Wendy's on Fridays."

"Pays good, huh?" Jeff scored high on the gullible scale.

"He's out of work too, dummy," Matt interjected.

"I used to build houses before this mess started." I directed their attention to the sticker still on the driver's-side door. "I'm Horn. Horn Homes used to be mine before the bank took it over."

I started putting on plug wires. When I looked up, Matt smiled right at me; a fat, happy kid with no problems except his bike was `broke.'

"Ask him," Jeff whispered.

"You ain't married, are you Randy?" Matt asked.

They'd been looking over the stuff stacked in my pick-up, yet still hadn't brought up the amp and speakers.

"Not the marrying kind. How about you, Mutt? You married?"

Matt burst into twelve-year-old giggles. "Not yet."

"Should'a guessed. You and Soccer-chick are still into hand action, huh?"

They were boys. They blushed at each other. Maybe too close for comfort. I backed off.

"A couple of hotties like you; no girl is safe within a mile of here, I bet."

Blushes got swapped for smirks.

Matt muttered, "You got that right."

"Hey, I'll see you guys tomorrow, if you want me weld it."

"About eleven," Jeff decided, unable to stop smirking.

"You need time to get that haircut, huh Champ?"

Jeff rolled his eyes as I got into my pickup to test run the motor. The good news; he smiled right back at me when I smiled at him. He liked being teased, or he was starved for manly attention. Maybe he wanted to set me up with his mom. Hard to tell, but I was hard as hell. The funny thing was that he was bulging again too, protruding in front with a noticeable tilt to the left—my favorite kind.

And the best part? He had his hand on his hip, pulling up his shorts like he wanted me to see it. I wondered if he knew what was going through my head as I watched them leave in the rear-vision mirror, pushing their shabby bikes across the street. Maybe he always wriggled his butt when he walked. Maybe he just boned up easily. Maybe he liked me as much as I liked him...

uUu

I made three more trips with my pickup loaded up past the roof. It should have four, even five more trips; instead, I kept throwing stuff on. There wasn't a choice with my monthly gas allowance already half used up—a V-8 pickup got two 10-gallon gas coupons per month. After that it was $9.89 a gallon, most of it Cap and Trade taxes. Between trips, I saw `Cutie' two more times on that first day. Once, I saw him with his mom and older sister, and a blond little brother who might have been eight. They pulled up in a tiny two-door Taiwanese enviro-car, a Cash for Clunkers sticker pasted on the bumper so it was a couple of years old, when cars from Taiwan were still legal to import.

Mom and both siblings looked like Jeff. Another time, another place, mom would've made a man happy; not me; someone else. She had the same worn-out, disillusioned appearance that all single moms had after the economy went to Hell.

Jeff pointed me out to her, and he waved, which was awkward because he had two Walmart bags in each hand. I waved back and went on lugging boxes into my trailer. I kept an eye on him when he carried three more Walmart bags to the neighbors.

The last time I saw him was at dusk. The Mutt and Jeff team went into Matt's trailer, directly opposite my mine. Damned if Jeff didn't turn around, wave, and give me a big cheesy grin before he went through the door. In the half-light, I swear he grabbed at his crotch.

I hurried into my trailer, pulled my jeans and briefs down, and masturbated. I was already hard so there was no delay, standing among piles of cardboard boxes, panting. My head filled with images of Soccer-chick playing center midfield in a championship game, his glorious golden locks blowing behind him. The game ended with him scoring victorious. Then, bravado-boy gave me a mischievous grin and pulled down the front of his elastic-waist shorts, far enough to show me his dick.

Let me say right here and now, that my definition of the perfect boy-dick is three inches hard, totally hairless, with plump little balls tucked underneath—in other words, a prepubescent dick had to be big enough to hold on to—anything smaller wasn't worth sucking. That was the Jeff I imagined. I pictured him cut and uncut; however, I couldn't decide. There were advantages either way, although I was partial to prepuce. Not that there was more to suck on, it was simply more fun when a kid had a foreskin—it drove him wild when you licked on his exposed knob. The advantage of `cut'; it was always pristine.

I ejaculated over a big cardboard box, making a big pearly puddle on the packaging tape, almost covering up `tools.'

Two beers and a cold hamburger later, I started to put things away. I worked for four hours, sorting out stuff, setting up my Stratocaster in the spare bedroom, connecting my computer, rearranging the remnants of my once-upper-middle-class life.

With no sign of Jeff going back to his trailer, I figured it was sleepover time, but that didn't stop me from occasionally peeking through my front window at the trailer across the street, hoping for a glimpse of Jeff minus clothes. The lights went off at 12:00 am sharp, but given the flickering blue glow behind the curtains, I was sure the TV was still on. Using electricity after midnight was a misdemeanor at that time of year, but they were probably safe—every trailer on both sides of the street was the same, including mine.

Sunday

 

The boys reappeared shortly after I'd finished a scrambled egg-beater breakfast, wheeling the wobbly bike up the driveway. Matt's mother waddled a few yards behind. She was the red-haired half of his DNA. She was overweight like her son, yet tried to conceal it behind a sack of a dress she'd worn to church. Despite dire predictions that carbon dioxide was melting the glaciers, it was ten degrees cooler than yesterday. Jeff had traded yesterday's soccer shorts for blue jeans with holes in the knees, the same shirt as before.

"Mom wanted to meet you," Matt admitted with a nervous shrug. "'cause, you know, like in case you're a weirdo or somethin'."

I gulped uncomfortably, yet managed an innocent smile. Mrs. Rawson had jelly-paws like her son, flabby arms, no freckles despite a profusion of pale, clammy skin. Her fingernails were self-manicured, done in metallic-purple, a color that didn't suit her, or anyone else for that matter.

She looked me over, saw the NRA stickers in the back window of my pickup, and decided I wasn't a threat to her son's masculinity. Besides, I'd already set up the welder on the driveway.

"Won't take long. I'm never at it more than a couple of minutes, Patty."

I flirted for fun. She didn't get it, already heading back to the couch, Little Debbie cream cakes, and her favorite Tivoed Oprah shows.

I made the boys turn around and face the vinyl siding on my trailer. Pert little boy-butt and sagging flab-butt—right away I realized I could fuck Matt as hard as I wanted and probably do it without hurting him. 'Cutie' would be tight, though not impossible. He might even bleed—some boys did the first time. That said, most of them liked it after the shock wore off.

Of course, Jeff would complain the usual four or five times, because all boys complained for a while. Then, something changed inside a boy; loosie-goosie was part of it, as was knowing in advance what would happen, and not being afraid. My theory was that one in three boys thrived on anal. The need to be plowed was even stronger after a kid got his ass stretched. If I was lucky, there'd even come a time when Jeff would beg to bend over. I'd been there before. Twice a day wasn't unusual. Three times if he stayed overnight, or we went camping.

"Watch the flashes," I warned again.

Lowering the visor and placing the tig-welder tip, I ran a bead, and then a second one to reinforce it before I noticed the fork was twisting with the heat. I should have noticed the crack earlier.

"Fuckin' fork's fractured."

The boys giggled, knowing better than to turn around.

"What are you laughing at?"

"Mom would kill me if I said shit like that," Jeff chirped.

I lifted the visor and stared at their butts; one made me nauseous, the other a joy to behold. Matt's ass was like two big balloons. Just thinking about licking him there churned my low-carbon egg-beaters. Jeff's ass, on the other hand, redefined gorgeous. I feasted my eyes and imagined him naked, his rear as perfect as his beautiful front.

"You can turn around now, guys."

Jeff came over and knelt next to me. I liked having him close. His hair smelled like fresh flowers. Instinctively, I glanced down. With blue jeans the view wasn't great, although a nice little lump replaced the fold of before.

"Bike's really broke, huh?" he asked, his twang working its magic. He was easy to like.

I pointed out the crack. "Metal's too thin to weld properly. Won't last more than week if I do."

"Shit!" Matt wasn't happy. "It cost Mom her anniversary check."

Four hundred dollars came in the mail every November, a so-called tax rebate distributed to every family, middle-class and below. It was intended to stimulate the struggling economy; however, everyone knew the messiah did it to buy votes for his unpopular cronies.

"I'll figure something out." I gave Jeff a shove. "Where'd you get the boomerang, Blondie?" He wasn't blond-blond, hadn't been for a couple of years, but `Blondie' still suited him.

He fingered his necklace, a grubby black leather cord with a miniature pewter boomerang, brashly sharing another endearing smile. "My dad sent it. He went back to Australia."

"Smart move."

"Yeah, real smart!" Matt added unnecessarily.

Jeff shook his head like any kid who was torn between truth and fiction. "Boomerangs come back; you know."

He pulled it around so I couldn't see it, just the greasy-thin black choker tight on his neck. Maybe he was ashamed, or he didn't want the memories that came with it. Something about the way he looked at me said he wanted to believe his father still loved him.

"Your mom's right about giving it up," Matt said, exacting cruel pleasure as he added, "He stopped emailing you last year."

"Fuck you!"

For a moment, I thought Jeff was going to cry. Instead, he sniffed snot a few times.

"Can you fix it, Randy?" Matt asked uncomfortably.

"I'll die trying, Pumpkin. What it needs is something to hold it together."

The boys followed me into my trailer, looking around as inquisitive as stray cats while I searched for a box labeled `metal'. It was under the box labeled `tools'. I plunked it down on the floor. They came over to look after I stripped off packaging tape and opened the flaps.

"With all this shit, you gotta have something that works," Matt enthused, doing nothing but watch while Jeff and I delved through flats, angles, and scraps of tube.

"You ought to build a robot or something," Jeff suggested. He assembled a couple of pieces to look like a transformer-toy. "Matt knows this kid in high school who does electronics. Or we could make one of them fuel cells. We could put it in your pickup. Get like a bazillion miles to the gallon."

"It's a lie. That's what my dad says. You gotta make the hydrogen first. It takes more fuckin' energy to make it than what you get from the gas."

Jeff looked hurt. "You get less C-O-2 pollution. That's what's important."

Matt looked around for somewhere to sit. He wisely chose `tools' over `china.' "Hey Randy, there's somethin' wet on top of this box."

"Something must've leaked. Don't worry about it," I replied.

With 99.9 percent of my attention devoted to Jeff's antics, I was waiting for something to break. Worse, he had the attention span of a hyperactive five-year-old brat.

"Looks like you spilled shampoo or something," Jeff declared, screwing his head to look over his shoulder.

It had dried out overnight, no longer milky, viscous like half-dried Elmer's glue, nothing like semen. Bored with building make-believe fuel cells, Jeff bounced up to get a better look. He rubbed his fingers through it, back and forth, trying to make `shampoo' foam up. I couldn't stop grinning.

After sticking his fingers next to his nose... "Sure doesn't smell like shampoo."

Matt studied his fingers up close.

"Sticky kinda. You bust an egg or something, Randy?"

I almost laughed out loud. "Taste it and see, Jeff."

"No way!"

Then, Jeff extended his tongue, big for his mouth and as pink as my mother's petunias. He licked the tip of his finger.

"Don't taste like nothin'." He shrugged. "Slimy shit."

He wiped his finger off on his T-shirt and went back to arranging his bits of metal.

Crazy-kid had my cum in his belly! When I stopped breathing hard, I picked out a one-inch-thick tube to use as a sleeve. It was six inches long, a leftover piece of handrail from an architect-inspired house I built in Breckenridge Hills before the developer went belly-up. I needed to calm down; instead, on my own crazy impulse, I stuck my finger inside and pointed it at Jeff.

"This as big as Mutt's dick, you reckon?"

Matt guffawed from deep in his belly.

Jeff's prepubescent giggle came from somewhere else. "Yeah, in his dreams."

He even rolled on the floor, as much real laughter as a preteen carrying on, going out of his way to antagonize his overweight friend. I wagged the steel tube at him, and he made pelvic thrust motions on my rug, grunting and humping, and making it worse.

"It's perfect for fixing his bike, only I'm worried about using it." I went on wagging it. "What if he needs help getting a hard-on?"

Jeff snorted another barrage of giggles. "He don't need no help. He might need a replacement, but. Like if he had an accident or something."

Matt turned red until I winked at him. "Hm, how about we find a replacement dick for Soccer-chick?"

I picked out a half-inch copper tube about two inches long and held it up. Probably a $1.50 worth of copper; it would have worked just fine for a five-year-old.

"Hey Matt, how about this for your giggle-head friend?"

It was Matt's turn to giggle. "Um, it's way too thin, Randy."

Jeff scowled at him and started clawing his way through scrap metal to find the biggest tube in the box.

I was ahead of him, pushing bigger tubes deeper.

"Got a thick one, huh Jeffy?" I asked, wagging the big tube on my finger. I pointed it at him. "Big enough to give a girl a good time, too short to give her a baby."

Matt nodded, grinning, getting into the game. "Except he don't have no girlfriend."

"Big enough for him to hold on to though, right?"

"You mean like this?"

Matt made the motion, two fingers opposite his thumb, jerking his wrist back and forth, making his flabby arm wobble. Jeff went red in an instant.

"Ass-wipe. It's bigger than that!"

"In your dreams, Chick-dick!"

"My chick-dick is bigger than yours!" Jeff snapped back.

I looked from Jeff to Matt, expecting a heated denial. Joking with preteen boys about `boners' was one thing; however, if it got too personal it'd shut them up. Matt have him a shrug that could've meant any one of a dozen different things.

After I found my hacksaw and cut off the three inches I needed, I took the boys outside to finish repairing Matt's bike. Their sulking didn't last long. Matt started giggling and carrying on like Jeff had been earlier. He held the other half of the tube in front of Jeff's crotch, pointing it up and out.

"This could be Jeff's replacement dick."

"Way too short, ass hole," Jeff growled and backed away.

"Mutt must really like playing with your dick. He can't leave it alone," I teased.

Matt seemed more interested in tossing the tube into the air, barely catching it on the way down—dexterity wasn't his forte. Then, he grinned.

"He wouldn't have to worry about not getting' a boner, that's fer sure."

Two rambunctious boys didn't help, not after that. They wrestled for the tube. It got pushed into the ground, rubbed against trees, used in a game of `catch the boner', rolled down my driveway, and ground into the seat of Jeff's jeans when Matt had him pinned face down on the grass. The strangest thing happened when they did that. Before letting Jeff get up, Matt ran his hands through his friend's hair like he was brushing it out. He stopped as soon as he realized I was watching them.

By the time I finished, it was difficult to see the fracture. The only problem, my red spray paint was three shades too dark. My repair job stood out like a love bite on a butt.

"Looks great," Jeff proclaimed.

He shook up the spray can, smirked like a hooligan, and aimed it at the driveway.

"Hey Randy, what should I write?"

"How about Jeffrey Paul Morgan died here."

I'd wheedled his full name from Matt. Apparently, Jeff's father thought JP Morgan sounded like someone worth knowing.

He grinned, girlish golden locks hiding most of his face when he bent down. I had a mental image of having sex with him. If he was on top, jockey-style, it would be just like having sex with a girl. The only difference, his ass would be difficult to get into, tight but not impossible.

"How about?"

He moved his hand, defining each letter but not pressing the button as he spelled out `f-u-c-k.'

"Nah. Might give some chick the wrong idea." He looked up at me, suddenly serious. "There are only a dozen men in the entire park. Most kids here don't have their dads living with them."

"They're all working for CAPs," Matt added.

CAPs were Community Action Projects run by ACORN despite endless bad press. Year-long unskilled jobs that were supposedly distributed based on need. However, all of the projects were in major cities, because that's where the votes were. Matt's father was in Chicago, erecting solar panels on public buildings.

"Two hundred trailers packed full of horny women. I'll have to watch out."

Both boys grinned.

"There's this high school guy," Jeff said, lowering his voice. "He gets twenty bucks ... for... you know... doing it."

"Lucky guy. He must be making a fortune."

"Yeah, except he only goes to those three trailers," Matt said, looking down the road.

I figured he meant the three brand-new trailers.

"Why just them?"

Jeff smirked. "Only guys live in them."

Matt smirked even more. "My mom says they're gay. That's like so gross."

The 2010 Civil Rights Act covered queers, gave them more-than-equal rights to get government jobs, plus preferential housing coupons for reparations. Their trailers were the top of the line, unlike mine, which was air-conditioned only when the wind blew.

"Guess it depends on how badly you need the money," I joked.

"I'm not lettin' anyone do that to my butt. Jeff would, if you paid him enough," Matt sneered, glancing sideways.

"Fuck off."

"Now, now boys. Why don't you take it for a spin, Mutt?" I suggested, picking up the bike with my heart doing jumping jacks.

Watching Matt ride his bike was like watching a hippopotamus on a tightrope, clumsy and guaranteed to fall off. After he hoisted one leg over the frame, he inelegantly rotated the pedal to the start position. He achieved a semblance of balance before he wavered down the driveway. He made a wide turn in the street and nearly fell over.

"That's my boy," I called out.

Jeff and I sat down on the grass together. It was lush green. Everyone talked global warming, and how the rain was supposed to be less each year, but the grass needed mowing every three or four days. We watched Matt pedal down the street.

Jeff smiled and stretched out; sneaker-feet crossed. "`We're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad.'"

I chuckled and asked the obvious question. "`How do you know I'm mad?'"

"`You must be, or you wouldn't have come here.'"

"So, should I call you the `Cheshire Pussy'?"

He grinned hugely. "You're supposed to say. `And how do you know that you're mad?'"

I winked, risking a glance to check out his boy-bump. When I looked up again, he was still grinning.

"You looking for work, Randy?"

After a day, I felt as if I'd known him for eleven years. "I'm temporarily retired. How's employment on your side of the street?"

He grinned. "Mom's always trying. She almost got hired as a shelf-clerk at Walmart last week, only she can't speak Spanish."

"Right sex, wrong color."

"Having a college degree don't help. She even got trained as a pharmacy clerk."

"It's tight all over."

"Yeah, that's what she said. People were lined up around the block for an interview."

"Too many Mexicans sneaking over the border."

Sixty million Hispanic refugees were looking for work and free health care. Right to Work laws ruined everyone's chances. Black or white, pink or blue, there weren't enough jobs to go around.

Jeff smiled. He'd probably heard his mother say the same thing.

"Sucks, don't it, being white? Being an old white guy must be awful."

"Who are you calling old?"

"You dude!"

He ducked and rolled to the side as I swiped at him. He tried to scramble away. He was quick, yet I caught one skinny ankle and dragged him across the grass, making green streaks on his shirt, ignoring his protesting squeals.

"I ought to whack your butt. Teach you to respect your elders."

"I know what you want to do to my butt, and it sure ain't whacking it."

I wasn't sure I heard right so I pretended innocence. "And what might that be?"

He shrugged, pretending innocence back at me.

"Out with it, or leave, now."

"You look at me weird."

More observation than accusation; I tensed anyway.

Finally, I managed, "Maybe I'm weird because you're weird."

"Yeah, right. You're the one who ain't the marrying kind, Randy."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

I let go of his ankle and he sat up, his face slightly flushed. He seemed more nervous than embarrassed.

"It means what you want it mean, doesn't it? You need to know something about Mutt `n me." He hesitated. "We got you figured out."

"Really?"

He nodded a bit too eagerly. "Mutt bet me five bucks you're gay," he said, throwing caution away.

"What do you think?"

"Don't know. Don't really care. My mom says everyone should follow `don't ask, don't tell', like they used to do in the military."

He smiled, either thinking something was funny, or having fun playing close to the edge.

"Keep your private life private, eh?"

He swallowed, looking away. "My teachers are always telling us to share our feeling. We have to `Accept all.' You still get made fun of if you're different. It's better than being beat up."

`Accept all' was the latest buzz phrase. It went a long way beyond not asking questions.

"Nice to know you've got an open mind."

He shrugged and pulled up a handful of clover. "You never know till you try the alternatives. That's what Mom says."

"Maybe she's right. You might want a subsidized trailer one day," I teased.

He glared at me as if I'd slapped him. Then, he frowned. "See, I think that's wrong. Being gay is okay, because you can't help it, only you shouldn't get special treatment."

"I'm not disagreeing."

He scratched at his ear. "Mr. Parker, he's my history teacher, he got married like two months ago. His partner's a temp. Juan's okay; he teaches Lifestyles and Spanish."

"Lifestyles?"

"You know, feel-good multicultural shit, so we don't make jokes about tacos and fags. I haven't had him for that, just Spanish. He's cool. My real teacher runs the school. She's a bitch, head of the union and stuff, always telling us about how important her job is."

"My job is important, welding up kids' bikes."

He grinned, yanking up clumps of clover—a losing battle.

"The best part is she's constantly going on trips to DC, so Juan's mostly our teacher."

"You like him?"

He tossed grass in the air. "He's from Guatemala or Honduras. The principal announced they were tying the knot over the speaker system, like it was a big deal or something. I know we're s'posed to respect peoples' differences and all, but it's like what Mom says. Being gay ain't the problem. That's normal. It's all the rest. We're supposed to treat them special to make up for how they were treated in the past."

"Crazy world, huh?"

"Yeah.

"You never know what the future holds anymore."

"Some future, hope and change." He sighed.

"Who would have thought..." I agreed.

"Everything's changed, just for the worst." Jeff hesitated. "So, are you gay?"

He wasn't reluctant to ask it, not like I would've been at his age. Instead of asking what happened to `don't ask, don't tell', I took a deep breath.

"I had a buddy I was really close to when I was 11."

"That wasn't what I asked. Are you?"

"I'm not the marrying kind, remember? Are you gay?"

"Hell no!"

He turned away to watch Matt negotiate the turn at the end of the street.

"Clumsy fucker." He giggled at himself. "See, you got me saying it now."

"You don't like girls, though, do you?"

"I'm eleven."

"What's that got to do with it?"

He exhaled. "Matt says you don't know nothing `til you're a teenager."

"Not true. Some boys know they like guys way before then."

"Well, I'm not one of them."

He brushed hair back from his eyes, too much like a girl to be 100-percent straight.

"Haven't had that haircut yet, I see."

Matt waved when he passed us, pedaling in slow motion. His bike almost veered into a pothole filled with gravel.

"Matt says I shouldn't get it cut till I get hair on my dick." He smirked. "I can't believe I said that."

"Matt must have lots of hair on his dick."

It took a while to sink in. Then, he laughed out loud. When he stopped, he wiped snot from his nose and smeared it on the grass. He even had tears in his eyes. He blinked them away.

"I'm not getting a buzz when I do get hair, that's for sure."

"So, fake it. Keep yourself shaved down there and you won't need to get it cut."

Jeff burst into giggles. "Yeah, I could use my mom's leg razor until I'm old enough to get one of my own."

"Do it, dude. A lot of guys are bald `round their privates."

"You're joking, right?"

"Nothing worse than a chick getting pubic hair in her mouth and spitting it out."

"That's what Mutt says. Like he'd know!"

I laughed. "You look good with long hair. Mutt likes it long, too, doesn't he?" I asked, bolder than I'd intended.

He stared at me; eyes wide. Finally, he shrugged. Matt reached the far end of the street and turned around again.

"You guys a pair?" I asked quietly. If I was going to pry, it was as good a time as any.

"Huh?"

"Are you guys a pair?"

"We're best friends. That what you mean?"

However, he knew what I meant. I could tell by the tremble in his voice, the way he said `best friends', as nervous as a boy could be when someone finds out his deepest, darkest secret.

"Lots of boys do stuff with their friends, stuff they don't want anyone else to know about." I said it quietly, like I meant it.

He looked up. "You know that for certain?"

"Like I said, I had a best friend when I was your age. I know what goes on."

"You did stuff with him?"

"Lots of stuff. We were best buds for two years."

"What happened?"

"He decided he liked girls all of a sudden."

"You mean he dumped you for tits... that's worse than takin' a big fuckin' crap on your face!"

"He didn't think of it quite like that."

He followed Matt for a while. "You really did stuff with him?"

"Nothing wrong with boys doing stuff, JP."

"Just like there's nothing wrong with the guys down the street," he sneered.

He was panicky, too. Audibly. And a nervous glance. I wondered if he'd been tempted to visit.

"Two boys being best friends, and fooling around together is normal. At your age, having fun with another guy doesn't mean you're gay."

"Fuck!"

"It's cool. No big deal, especially between friends. We're friends, right?"

"Yeah, I guess."

He frowned, clearly uncomfortable with someone else knowing he was having sex with a boy. Maybe it was me; because I was an adult male and he was trying so hard to grow up. Then, I took the biggest risk of my life.

"When you're young, sometimes it's hard to find somewhere private..." I began.

He looked up.

"Jeff, if you want to do something..."

"Like what?" he demanded, too quickly to pretend he wasn't curious.

"See, I have this don't ask, don't tell policy..."

"Very funny. Ha fucking ha."

"If you want somewhere private to do stuff, have some fun with Matt, whatever you guys want to do, maybe get naked, whatever; well, my place is available."

"You're kidding?"

I got up from the grass, reached down to pull him up. It was like lifting a bag of sand; you think it's lighter than it really is; however, it really does weigh 80 pounds. The thing was, once I'd gotten him started off the ground, he swung up gracefully. He might have been taking judo classes for a couple of years; maybe he was born agile.

I didn't let go of his hand right away. It was much hotter than mine. His face suddenly flushed like he'd run for a mile, breathing through his nose. He jerked away.

"This is like so creepy," he said, looking down, nervous as a dog about to be whacked.

He had an erection. So did I; I don't think he saw mine.

"Feeling this way, it's normal, Jeff."

"Not!"

"Getting off with your best friend, finding out what feels good, it's all part of growing up. Just about every boy does it if he gets the chance. There's nothing wrong about being curious, just like there's nothing creepy about getting a boner. In case you don't now, it's supposed to do that."

"Duh. Those teachers I told you about; they went on a honeymoon over spring break. Some kids at school said..." He licked his lips. "Do they really have sex by putting their cocks up each other's butts?"

I nodded. "Weird huh?"

"Really weird," he agreed, yet his heart wasn't in it.

"Maybe that's why they're called `queers."

He grinned. "We're supposed to say `alternative gender preference'. That's from Lifestyles, at school."

"Just so you know, having fun with your best friend doesn't mean you have to do that. If you do, great. I bet you'll enjoy it. There's still lots of other stuff you can do with Matt without getting poop on your penis."

uUu

We played soccer on my narrow strip of unkempt grass, with my pickup parked in the street, Matt and Jeff versus me. Matt got in the way, huffing and puffing, and missing the ball unless it stopped in front of his foot. Jeff was a bee, always ready to sting, always managing to get in my way, and fast. He should have been on a select soccer team. Instead, he played on the Save the Polar Bears, the Edward Kennedy Community Center team.

Only his long hair saved me from embarrassment. Without a headband, it kept getting in his eyes, and he kept brushing it back. After we worked up a sweat, I took the boys inside for a drink.

"Coke or milk are your choices, guys. I'm having a beer."

"You got real Coke?" Matt asked, looking in my refrigerator. He didn't mean regular compared to diet or decaffeinated.

"Like I'd give carbonated to a couple of kids. In your dreams, Mutt. I'm keeping the real stuff for bourbon."

The boys grinned. They remembered carbonated drinks. They ended when some overpaid EPA scientist figured out how much greenhouse gas came out of drink cans each year. Aerated drinks were on the shelves in a month, with three extra chemicals to make the fizz last. Pepsi went bankrupt in 2011. Coke Air wasn't all that bad once you got used to the after-taste.

For good reason, the boys chose milk, yet even the milk wasn't as good as it used to be. It was expensive too, unless you got food stamps. The government blamed it on inefficient farmers; however, it was methane tax, plus real cows ate corn that cost $95 a bushel, which was only to be expected when ethanol and corn syrup were America's major exports to the rest of the world.

"Tastes like dog piss," Matt said, making a face.

It was watered down, not too bad on cereal after you poured on the sugar.

"More like dog cum," Jeff added. He scrunched up his face like I'd poisoned him.

"You make a habit of drinking dog cum?" I teased.

He rolled his eyes and slurped loudly, getting his lips white like the `healthy kids' commercials on TV. He put the glass down and hauled up his grass-stained T-shirt to dab sweat from his brow. Both Matt and I stared. Bare from his tiny pink nipples to the low-hanging waist of his jeans. I almost lost it right there. Lean, lithe, muscular; he had a belly to die for. His navel was a barely pushed-in button of tiny spiraling lines, like it was sewn into him. He was pale where the sun hadn't reached, yet I could tell he'd tan quickly in another month.

"What are you perverts looking at?" he sneered, shoving his T-shirt down. Matt turned red to his ears.

"I guess your cute little belly button proves you were born and not made in a lab," I teased, hoping a joke would distract him.

Jeff did the eye-roll thing again. "You going to tell Mutt what we talked about earlier?"

"You can tell him, if you want."

"Tell me what?" Matt demanded.

"Jeff's got a girlfriend. He played with her tits last weekend."

"What?"

Priceless, like the grin on Jeff's face. I waited a moment, thinking maybe he'd say something.

"I told him if you guys wanted to hang out here, it's okay by me."

"That wasn't what you said," Jeff interjected.

While he waited for me to correct myself, he sucked on the rim of his glass and blew in his milk until bubbles splattered his nose. He wiped them off sheepishly.

"What he said was... if we want to do stuff, we can do it here."

"Stuff?"

"You know. Stuff. Like last night; that stuff!" Jeff stifled a smile. "What we do when your mom's not around."

"You're joking," Matt said, seeming bewildered. "You mean here?"

Jeff gave a shrug. "Better than worrying about her finding us on the couch, dude."

"You're crazy! Here... with him... He's gonna watch us. You are, aren't you?" Matt asked me.

He looked nervous for good reason. By 13, a boy remembered `stranger danger'.

"Totally up to you guys. If you want privacy, take it in the bedroom and close the door. If you don't care, pretend like I'm not here. Either way, I won't bother you."

They exchanged glances. Thinking it through.

"If you want some company, I'm available."

"Shit!"

Jeff caved and grinned. "So, Mutt, you wanna?"

"No way."

"I thought you'd be all over it... after last night?"

"She didn't see nothing."

"Only because you still had your undies on."

"Shit! You want to. I can tell. Damn! You mean do it now?"

Jeff looked at me and I shrugged. "If you want. It's up to you guys."

"Who would'a guessed? You're really gay?" Matt looked at me for confirmation.

I raised a brow. "Me not liking the opposite sex is a strong possibility, dude. Don't let it bother you."

He smirked at Jeff like he'd known all along. "Tell me he's jokin'?"

Jeff shrugged, giggling like a girl with a secret. One thing was clear; my sexual preference was out in the open; and he didn't seem to care one way or the other.

"My bedroom's that-a-way, guys." I pointed to the open door next to the kitchen. "If you want more privacy, and don't mind wasting an hour, you can clean out the other bedroom, only you won't have a bed. Like I said, it's up to you."

The boys grinned at each other. That was when I knew for certain. Paper-thin trailer walls, squeaky floors, parents or siblings just a few feet away; it must have been difficult for them to do anything, even in the middle of the night.

"You're serious, right?" Matt was persistent.

I pointed to the bedroom door.

"You have to play by my rules if you take up my offer. What happens here, stays here. Is that clear? No one tells anyone else, not unless I give permission."

The boys nodded agreement. I knew boys; they'd never tell. Their precious budding manhood was at stake.

"Any other rules?" Matt asked nervously.

"Not for today. You make a mess; you clean it up. Otherwise have fun, Hot-stuff."

"Come on, Mattie. It's cool."

"You're crazy!"

"No one's going to know," Jeff insisted. "He sure as hell won't tell."

Matt followed him like an obedient dog, skinny Soccer-chick leading the Pillsbury dough-boy on an invisible leash. They closed the door after them. Then, Jeff opened it, stuck his head through the gap, and smirked at me. When he closed it again, he pushed the button in so I'd have to knock. He'd made his point. I sat at the kitchen counter, drinking beer, listening.

"Told you he was gay, didn't I?" Mutt said.

His voice was muffled, yet I still heard every word.

"Yeah, but he sure don't act it."

"Yeah, he does, he's just like Mr. Parker."

"He's cool."

Jeff's twang had turned squeakier, as if my being gay affected him, or maybe it happened whenever he was sexually excited.

"Stop acting weird."

"This is so wild."

"You're sure he won't come in? Shit! What are you doing?"

"Taking my jeans off, dumb-ass. Come on, I locked the fuckin' door. Hurry up and take your pants off, Muttie."

"You're crazy. Don't take `em all the way off!"

"Why not?"

"Man, you're already boned up."

Then, I heard a fleshy slap, and another. A boy-boner hitting a firm boy-belly made a sound like that. It made Jeff giggle.

"Stop it, ass-hole."

"I'm not gonna break it off. You know the dude likes you, JP."

"Says who?"

"He likes you. Really!"

I could tell Matt wasn't happy that he had competition.

"More like he's got the hots for you."

"Man, your cock is so fuckin' hard, you could punch holes in concrete."

"Don't squeeze `em so hard. They're only little guys. Take your pants down all the way, Matt."

Then, I couldn't hear anything except an occasional floor squeak until...

Jeff sighed, "Yeahhhh."

"You want suck?"

"Uh uh. I'm joking, you big dummy." More boy giggles. "Let's get on his bed."

Someone waddled cross the room. The bed complained when they say down, whenever they moved.

"Get on top," Matt whispered.

The bed squeaked again, louder than before.

"Yeah... you feel so good."

"Shhh! You talk too much."

The bed banged against the wall, fix, six, seven times before it stopped.

"Why don't you wanna wrestle?"

"Too noisy. Fuck! Stop that! Shit, you're horny."

"Duh. Rub my butt, Mattie. Like last night."

"Damn, you're so fuckin' soft. You could be my sister, except for this."

More giggles, more squeaks, a soft tap-tapping as the bed-head knocked against the wall, becoming faster, steady bouncing most of the time. Matt probably weighed close to what I did. The bed complained the same way when I masturbated. I heard an occasional whisper; like most boys, when the action started, they didn't talk much, in fact not a word until five minutes later.

"Gettin' close, JP!"

"Shhhh."

Matt was huffing and puffing up the hill. He'd sounded the same when he got off his bike. It didn't take much to make him breathless. I assumed Jeff was still on top, doing most of the work because he'd be squashed underneath. Then, Matt giggled and the tapping stopped abruptly.

"Shit! You should'a warned me, ass-hole." Jeff sounded out of breath, almost angry.

"I did, you crazy dick-head. Not gonna hurt ya. I do it on my belly all the time."

"I wanted to suck it."

"Next time, okay? Find somethin' to wipe it up with."

"Not my undies! Fuck, not on his sheet."

I chuckled and turned on the TV, loud so they'd hear. They came out of the bedroom a few minutes later, Matt a little red-faced, Jeff seeming disappointed. I consoled myself by thinking maybe he thought I'd try to open the door.

"Hey Mutt, your zipper's open." I teased.

After a quick glance at his front, Matt reached down before he realized I was joking.

"So, you guys had fun?" Both boys shrugged. "Not even a hint?"

Then, Jeff grinned goofily, the same goofy way as George W. He patted his front, and smirked right at me.

"Don't ask, don't tell."

"I think someone's embarrassed," I teased.

Jeff did his eye-roll trick, almost looking inside his head.

"How about it, Soccer-chick? You have fun?"

"He's not tellin,'" Matt insisted. "Me neither."

After that, I thought Jeff wouldn't tell me, even if he did have fun...

"It was good, Randy. He got his twenty bucks worth."

"Ass-wipe. He's crazy, Randy," Matt guffawed. "We didn't do nuthin'; just talked."

 

Friday

 

The boys didn't come back for five days, although I saw them leave every morning, Jeff's brother and sister, and another girl who was Matt's female twin leading the way. From my front window, I watched them all the way down the street to where the school buses stopped. Litter blew past them, swirling in the wind. The grass in front of most trailers was knee-high. Nobody cared.

Then, I waited for school to be over. Jeff's brother and sister returned on the afternoon bus. All week I waited, without seeing Jeff once. On Friday, after I got back from an exciting day cleaning restrooms at the mall, the last thing I expected was to find Matt and Jeff on sitting my porch.

It was the same day the IRS announced stock market losses would no longer be tax deductible, starting the previous year, and retroactive because that year's losses alone ran into trillions. If it wasn't already bad enough, the Dow dropped to 1,970 in an hour, a near riot on Wall Street before the cops arrived. I watched it on TV at the TGIF bar.

"Been looking for work, Randy?" Jeff said, getting up.

He stood at the top of the stairs, his hands on his hips, looking like Peter Pan commanding a pirate ship.

"I'm applying for a government job. You're looking hot."

He smirked. "I am hot."

I tossed the pickup keys to him, staring at his crotch, jeans bulging out in front.

"Want to go pick up a six-pack?"

Jeff grinned and swaggered towards the stairs, pretending he was already drunk. I caught him and tickled him until he squirmed away.

"Girls been keeping you guys busy all week?" I teased.

Tickling Jeff made his embarrassment worse; however, he came back, red-faced, charging into me. He needed physical contact even more than I did. A couple of times he jabbed his erection into my thigh, playful like an oversexed puppy dog. On the third time, I slapped his rubbery butt and pushed him away.

"Our school's been doin' community service," Matt said.

He was oblivious to everything except his all-day sucker, popping it in and out of his mouth like he was sucking cock, boy-sized with a nice round head.

"Cleanin' chewin' gum off of the sidewalks. Real educational."

"It's fun going downtown after school though," Jeff added.

He pulled his jeans away from his front so his boner wasn't quite so obvious.

"You got to watch out for the hobos, though. They're everywhere."

"A teacher said they don't qualify for CAPs," Matt said.

"'because they don't vote," Jeff added. "They had those Civilian Militia guys watching us."

"Dumb as rocks. All they did was smoke pot."

"It's not fair. They ought to work, too. It's their neighborhood."

"Yeah well, nothing's fair if you're white and male," I interrupted. "We caused this fucking mess, didn't you know?" I paused to cool down. "Pity you couldn't use your community service hours for something useful, like cleaning up this dump."

"Your trailer ain't that bad." Jeff snorted giggles.

It didn't help that his erection increasingly obvious despite his best efforts to hide it. Clearly, talking wouldn't make it go down.

"Good enough for two horny boys?"

The boys blushed like girls.

"Who's horny?" Jeff muttered.

"You are!" Matt laughed. "Comin' here is all he's talked about for a week."

"Hey guys, cool it. We're friends, right? After last time there's nothing to worry about. You want to go inside, say so."

"He wants to," Matt sniggered.

"Fuck off, Mutt," Jeff growled.

He shot me a sideways glance and awkwardly tugged at his jeans.

"It's okay, Jeff. All guys get hard-ons."

"So can we?"

"Sure. Just remember my rules. Don't tell, and clean up your mess."

"You gotta stay outside this time," Matt insisted.

"No way! Actually, there's a new rule. I forgot to tell you last time. There's no closing the door."

"You promised!" Matt insisted.

"I'm not going to bother you unless you want me to, only no closed doors. I'm having a beer and watching TV. You guys can use the bedroom all you want, if you don't mind changing the sheets afterwards. Personally, I'd recommend doing it on the couch; the bedroom's a mess; stuff everywhere."

"Shit!"

"Don't worry, I'll turn the volume up if you make too much noise. There's nothing you guys can do that'll bother me."

"Sure of yourself, ain't ya?" Jeff fired back.

"How did it go last time? `Fuck! Stop that! Shit, you're horny.'"

The boys gaped at me until Matt found his voice.

"You heard us? You did, didn't you?"

"Hard not to hear the way you were carrying on, Muttie."

"Fuck! I told you he was listening," Matt said to Jeff.

"Better me than your mom, Pumpkin," I quipped. "Listen guys. When I was your age, I couldn't get enough of my bud. I know what goes on, okay. Nothing wrong with two boys jacking off together, and if you want to do more than that, well, the sooner you realize I'm on your side, the more fun you can have."

"Can we still use your room?" Jeff asked quietly.

"Sure, only no closing the door. You boys won't do anything I didn't do, certainly nothing you need to hide, at least not from me."

He smiled. "Okay by me. It might take Mutt a while to get used to the idea."

I nodded to Matt. "Jeff's got it figured. How about you, stud?"

Matt let out a long sigh. Jeff tried to pull him up. I helped, and it was still a struggle.

"You ain't tellin' on us?" Matt asked, as nervous as the first time.

"What happens here, stays here; and it cuts three ways," I reminded them.

I unlocked the front door and opened it for the boys to go inside. Across the road, Matt's mom watched from her porch. I waved to her and shouted...

"The boys want to watch some TV. I'll send them back in an hour or so, okay?"

Maybe she figured there was safety in numbers, or she trusted me, or she wanted the boys out of her hair, or she just didn't care. Whatever the reason, she waved like a wilted dahlia.

"Can Mutt and me have a beer?" Jeff asked as soon as I closed the door.

"Nope."

"Pretty please?"

"Not even if you take off your pants and show me your weenies."

"Pedo!"

I laughed. "That'd be me. You've got an hour, guys. If I was you, I'd be getting naked."

"You just want to see our dicks," Matt sneered.

"Trust me, I've seen enough boy-sausage to last me a lifetime. A couple more sweaty little boners are neither here nor there."

"No way are you seeing mine!" Jeff said.

I could tell he didn't mean it.

"Up to you, Blondie. If it was me and my bud, we'd already have our junk out."

I took a can of beer for myself and handed Matt a can of real Coke, $8.99 imported from Mexico, but only if you knew where to go.

"That's for doing your part to improve the black community. The only problem is you guys have to share it."

"I'm not drinkin' from the same can as him," Matt complained.

"Neither am I!"

"Don't know why not. It's no different to kissing each other." I planted that seed early.

"Yeah, well we don't do that neither."

"Stop muttering, Mutt," I interrupted. "Jesus, I can't believe you guys haven't had locked tongues by now. That's the best part of boy-play."

He shook his head energetically and made a face; however, 99.9 percent of boys were like that. They hated the idea of kissing another guy, until they tried it.

"No way!"

"No making out yet, none at all? That's incredible!"

"Guys don't kiss," Matt insisted.

"They do if they're practicing for when they have girlfriends. You always swap spit before sex. Gets your partner in the mood, plus it makes it feel a hundred times better."

"How would you know, Randy?"

Jeff grinned like he knew. Maybe he'd tried it. More likely he'd given it some thought, yet hadn't dared to suggest it.

"Sex is sex. What's true for guys works for chicks too."

"You're making it up as you go."

"Next time you go by those three new trailers, have peek in the window. Just be careful. They'll probably want to give you some pointers."

"We're not gay!" Matt almost shouted.

"Hey, I know you're straight as an arrow. There's no need to tell the whole neighborhood. Hey, what if I prove making out is not going to hurt you?"

"Huh?"

"How about I show Soccer-chick here? Teach him what to do. If he agrees it's cool, then he can show you?" I suggested.

Jeff grinned again and backed away. I grabbed him and dragged him close.

"Close your eyes and pucker up, Hot-lips."

Jeff struggled and I tickled him. He twisted and dragged at me each time I jabbed my fingers into his armpits and ribs. He was as ticklish as any boy I'd ever tickled. Matt stayed safely out of the way, smirking and watching, no doubt feeling left out. Frankly, there's no point in tickling a fat kid.

Finally, when Jeff was close to losing control of his bladder, and really trying to get away, I smooched on the top of his head.

He leaped onto the couch, rubbing his head in the pillows, yelling...

"You're disgusting. That's like so gay, man!"

"See Mutt, it isn't so bad. It just takes a little practice, that's all."

Matt grinned. "I think he liked it."

"Did fuckin' not!"

"Yeah, he liked it alright," I teased. "How's that boner doing down there, Jeffy?"

"Don't got no boner," Jeff snapped.

He avoided looking, yet all three of us knew. After an awkward moment, he smoothed his hair down. I didn't say girls preened like he did.

"What do you think, Mutt? He got a boner or not?"

"He's always got one around me."

Matt smirked and flopped onto the couch next to him, bouncing his butt up and down, testing the springs. He waited until I looked away before he tugged at the front of his pants.

"I ain't now," Jeff growled, finally glancing down.

If he still had an erection, I couldn't see it. I smiled anyway.

"Take `em down and prove it."

"No way. No one is seeing my dick except me and my girlfriends."

"Aw, poor Jeffy. He's all embarrassed `cause he sprung a boner from kissing a guy."

"Did not! I'm leaving!"

Jeff headed for the door. He hadn't reached it before I started to laugh.

"Okay, you don't have to prove it. I'll take your word for it, only me and Mutt know the truth!"

He turned around, glaring at me.

"Asshole!" On the way back, he gave in and giggled. "If you want me to prove it, I will. It'll cost you a real Coke."

I pretended I hadn't heard him.

"Okay, new rule for the Horn house. You guys have to kiss before you mess around today. Just once. If you don't like it, that's it. You don't need to do it again. If you do, well no one but me will ever know."

Jeff avoided my eyes, looking everywhere but at me and his friend.

"You can swap as much spit as you want to when you're here," I added.

"If we do, we can use your bedroom for as long as we want, and you give us both real Cokes?"

"That's the deal, sport. First you kiss, then you do whatever you want. Then, you get the Cokes."

Matt sniggered, "I told you he's weird."

"I'll make it easy. I'll even turn around," I said, turning into the wall. "I'll take your word for it."

"Might be fun," Jeff mumbled.

"You're crazy!"

Right in front of me was an autographed photo of a young Aaron Carter behind glass. I watched Matt clamber to his feet, saw them approach each other warily, two anxious boys standing face-to-face, too excited to stop themselves. Matt stooped lower; Jeff rose up on his toes. Lips pursed. Eyes wide open. Arms by their sides. I could tell they'd never done it before; one clumsy peck and they broke apart.

"Gross!" Matt swiped at his lips when I turned around.

"Yeah!" Jeff agreed.

"Fucking disgusting, right?" I teased.

They nodded, Jeff just a little bit slower.

"Pity you didn't do it properly, guys."

"We kissed!" Matt glowered at me.

"So how did we do it wrong?" Jeff asked, feeling his lips with his tongue.

Now, his jeans definitely poked out in front. They were almost too tight for him, washed a hundred times, ankles frayed, permanently stained on the right thigh, holes above the rivets, the rear pocket almost torn off, brass zip halfway down. Sexy boy jeans.

"Well, you missed the important part."

Jeff took a deep breath. "How are you supposed to do it then?"

"Not like some chicken-shit boy. You need a grownup to teach you how to do it? You're supposed to enjoy it."

"No way!" Matt said, stepping back.

"Sounds like Mutt's out. How about you?" I asked Jeff.

He tried say `no,' but he couldn't. instead, he stared back at me, eyelids fluttering like hummingbird wings.

"Lesson one is how to relax. Close your eyes, and breathe through your nose."

He scrunched his eyes and snorted, pushing his lips forward, more like a pig's snout than a pretty boy's mouth. Still, the offer was too good to turn down. I grinned and grabbed his shoulders.

"I dare you to kiss him, Randy." Matt sniggered from beside us.

"How about you, Soccer-chick? You dare me too?"

Jeff shrugged, reaching up nervously to brush hair from his eyes.

I wasn't about to let a chance of a lifetime get away.

"I'll take that as a yes.'

"Whatever."

"Lesson two is just do what I do," I said quietly. "Let yourself go loose, pucker up, and enjoy it."

"You're one weird dude, dude!"

He puckered up, closed his eyes, and instinctively leaned in. I kissed him gently, barely brushing lips. Soft like a baby, trembling together, incredibly tender, a sweet, wonderful moment that I'd never forget. Then, he breathed out and it ended. His eyes opened in a flash and he stepped back, his hand smearing quickly over his lips.

"It's called `swapping spit" for a reason," I said, smiling at him.

"You didn't swap no spit," Matt sniggered.

"Just warming up, aren't we Jeff?" I licked my lips and nodded.

He swallowed and nodded awkwardly, lifting his head slightly. I sensed something inside him had finally clicked. Like crossing a one-way bridge, he couldn't go back. Without glancing away, he licked his lips again as if tasting me. He took a quick breath, and stepped even closer. It was a different kiss with wet lips, almost a different boy.

I felt him quiver against me, tensing unconsciously, pressing into my chest, his lips moist, slick, hot, suddenly, strangely eager. Then, his eyes closed. After a few seconds, he breathed out through his nose. I parted my lips and felt him do the same, and then very gently touched his lips with my tongue. After a few seconds, he jerked away.

"You fuckin' kissed him," Matt muttered. "You kissed him right on the fuckin' lips!"

Jeff swiped at his mouth, going scarlet.

"Oh man," I breathed out before I could stop myself. "That was some kiss, dude. You been practicing with Matt's sister?"

"Hell no!" He shook his head, denying before he realized.

"You better keep an eye on him, Mutt. He might be doing some heavy petting with her."

The look on Jeff's face was worth three years of tax rebates.

"He don't like girls so he smooches his pillow," Matt teased.

"Better than humping it all night like you do."

"You can kiss my pillow whenever you want, Jeff," I intervened before it turned to a squabble.

"Okay. Where is it?" Jeff grinned, looking around.

"You guys are so fuckin' queer it's disgusting!" Matt declared.

Jeff glowered at him. "You dared me, ass-hole."

"Yeah, but you enjoyed it."

"Did not!"

"I bet you a buck you boned up from doin' it, dude," Matt guffawed.

"DID NOT!" Jeff shouted, instantly turning away so I couldn't see his front.

"Did too!" Matt grinned. "Hey Randy, let's pants him and find out for sure."

He grabbed Jeff before he could get away, his thick flabby arms locked around his friend's narrow chest, pinning him so tightly that all Jeff could do was wriggle about.

"Let go!" Jeff shrieked, somewhere between screaming and laughing.

I knelt before him as Matt easily hoisted him up, his little sneakered feet scraping the floor, trying his best to kick me. Jeff didn't have a belt, not like Matt, who needed one to keep his jeans from sliding past his oversized butt. He struggled even harder when I reached for the metal button at the top of his jeans.

"Lemme go, assholes."

"He don't mean it. Let's strip him, Randy," Matt encouraged.

I unfastened the clasp, feeling firm warm flesh under his shirt, lean belly muscles straining. His feet drummed at my shins.

I didn't care. I couldn't remember being so excited. I gave a tug, not really trying to undress him; however, his jeans were loose on his slender hips, the metal zipper already partially open. They were halfway down his thighs before I realized he wore white Y-front briefs underneath, Hanes brand. They might have been fresh from the package that morning.

"Sure looks like someone's got wood," I observed with a grin.

He had a bulge in the middle, a big one for a small boy.

"There's only one way to be certain, right Matt?"

"Take off his undies," Matt chortled, his tits jiggling.

"Fuckin' pervert!" Jeff squealed as my hand came closer.

I gave his ridge a playful squeeze. He was hot and hard like only a boy can be when his entire existence is concentrated in his reproductive organ.

"Wow! You little stud!"

Instead of a normal eleven-year-old erection, Jeff was equipped like a young teenager. The ridge was longer than my finger, and thick, like two fingers together, pointing to his belly button. I gently stroked his penis through his underpants. His boyhood throbbed when I touched it, or maybe he flexed it. Either way it was hungry for more, trying to escape its white cotton pouch, tight elasticized briefs that gave a boy support where he needed it.

"Only looks big `cause he's so fuckin' skinny," Matt insisted.

"Maybe Mutt. If I was you, I wouldn't want him showing it to my sister. He could do real damage to her virginity with a boner like his."

I glanced up at Jeff, still trying to shake himself loose.

"I don't know why you're carrying on. You've got nothing to be ashamed of, Champ."

"Stop ravin' about his cock and finish strippin' him," Matt demanded, still clamping his arms around Jeff.

"Underpants off too?"

"Duh! You wanna see him nude, don't ya?"

I grinned lewdly at Jeff. He didn't say `no'. Instead, he bucked and tried to twist away. However, with me holding on to his hips and Matt holding his chest, all he did was make his jeans drop lower, all the way to his knees. With my fingers peeling back the waistband of his briefs, I jerked them down quickly.

Without a doubt, it was the most beautiful penis I'd ever seen. It was big for his age, big for his size, definitely a lot bigger than I expected. Four very-thick inches, without exaggeration, a smooth pink shaft from its hairless pale base to its round bluish tip, perfect except for a brown circumcision scar about a third of the way down.

Suddenly, I much preferred the sleek look. It was the suckable, please-play-with-me kind of dick that pedophiles lusted after, that other boys envied. He'd probably have eight inches of man-cock when he was fully mature, however puberty was still a few years away, judging by the two tiny nuts tucked underneath, not even close to dropping.

"Nice boner, Dude! Really, really nice."

I stroked the side of fat little cock and it twitched, so did Jeff.

"Feels good, huh?"

"Duh!"

He stood there, breathing deeply while I molested him, gently trailing my fingers along his swollen shaft, getting him used to be touched.

"Hey Mutt, it looks like Jeff-Junior gets plenty of exercise. Am I right?"

So close I could smell him, not stale and sweaty, fresh and clean. The aroma was the best part of Nature's Way soap. It lasted all day. It was also cheap, government-subsidized because it was ultra-biodegradable. The downside, it was next to impossible to work up a lather.

Matt smirked. "He beats off a coupla times a day."

"Do fuckin' not! It's you who does it all night!"

"Hey guys, every boy rubs it raw. Hell, when I was your age, my buddy and I played with our dicks nonstop." I smirked up at Jeff. "The big question is... Does Junior like being..."

I leaned, an instant before Jeff realized what I was going to do. It lasted only a moment; just long enough to get his cock in my mouth; just long enough to get it wet; just long enough to realize how hard it really was; just long enough to know I would never be happy unless I did it again.

He shuddered and jerked back, yanking it out of my mouth. It was hot and alive, and jerking.

"Fuck. You kissed his dick!"

I'd done more than kiss it; however, Matt hadn't seen that part. He hadn't heard Jeff's sharp intake of breath when his cock went into my mouth. He hadn't noticed me lick my lips as I savored the unforgettable taste of a virgin boy-cock. And the best part, it was a near perfect fit.

"Shit!" Jeff snapped.

Then, reason returned, his hand reaching down instinctively. His oversized boyhood was shiny wet, even harder than it had been a few seconds earlier. He quickly wiped it dry.

"I don't believe you did that."

"That's like so gross!" Matt was even more anxious than Jeff.

I had to say something fast. "So, Jeff; was it gross, or what?"

Jeff hesitated, as good as guaranteeing he'd enjoyed it. "Um... it was okay, I guess."

"You liked him kissin' your dick?" Matt demanded.

"Didn't say I liked it!"

"Didn't say you didn't like it either. You know it proves you're gay so admit it!"

I looked up at Matt. "Nothing wrong with me kissing his weenie, Pumpkin. It's the same as kissing him on his mouth. It's no big deal," I said, wondering if I'd gone too far, too fast.

"It's just like kissing my finger," Jeff added.

He was still unsettled, with the nervous voice of experience.

I gulped, getting hotter the longer I stared at. There was something about his beautiful boy-boner, especially up close, especially now that I'd had it in my mouth.

Of course, it was nothing like a finger, except in length. It jutted out, definitely too big for his wiry body. He was still a little boy in every other way; no dangling balls, no hair to get in my mouth, the lower half of his trim body as smooth as a newborn. No wonder it had tasted sweet. About then, I decided that a man couldn't ask for more than a big wiener boy.

"Kiss my dick, then! I dare you," Matt blurted.

"You're so dead, Mutt," Jeff grimaced.

He glanced up at me, shameless and excited.

"What do you think I should do, Randy?"

I shrugged, not believing that he was even contemplating it.

"You dare me to?"

"Up to you, dude."

He thought for a moment and hesitantly licked his lips. "No one tells. Ever!"

"You want me to take your pants all the way off?" I asked.

Part of me was hoping, holding my breath, willing him not to say `no.'

Silently, he lifted his right foot. I pulled off his sneaker. It stank like an old shoe. I tossed it to the other side of the room. He wouldn't need it any time soon. I pulled his boot-leg jeans over his foot. Then, I removed the other shoe, size seven from the tatty label still inside; so much for the saying, `big feet, big dick.' This time, I held my nose, making a face that got him giggling.

Just before taking his jeans all the way off, I glanced up again. He smirked.

"Them too," he added quietly, glancing down at his Hanes.

I tugged his underpants down and he stepped out of them. I left his socks on. I stared, one hand still on his calf. His slender body affected me in ways I'd only dreamed of. All of a sudden, I wanted to ravish him. I wanted to tell him I loved him, right there in front of his fat friend. Instead, I cupped my hand over his groin, my fingers fondling his immature gonads, my thumb caressing his stiff thick cock, still trying to get over its size.

"His balls sure are tiny, ain't they?" Matt said, peering over Jeff's shoulder.

I quickly took my hand away, realizing that Jeff hadn't cared that I was abusing his private parts. He hadn't moved, hadn't even peeped in nearly a minute.

"They're normal for an eleven-year-old. They'll start growing in a year or two, and then watch out. With a monster like this, he'll be a fountain once he starts shooting."

I tweaked Jeff's cock playfully and placed my hands on his narrow hips, turning him around, drawing him down until he knelt on the floor, facing his best friend.

"I'm only doing this because you guys dared me," he insisted.

A quick glance over his shoulder, looking down, trying to see my crotch.

"You sure?" I already knew.

He shrugged, trying hard to appear ambivalent. "We're just having fun, right?"

"A lot of guys do this with their friends. It's just a game, that's all."

"Don't mean nothing, right?" He trembled with excitement as he turned back.

I couldn't take my eyes off him. Most prepubescent boys have nice butts, some have great butts, and a few aspire to perfection. Jeff's butt was the `perfect 10': full but not fat, unblemished and beautiful.

"Just a game," I repeated. His butt took the rest of my breath away. "You ready, Mutt?

"Shit," Matt whispered.

"What do I do?" Jeff muttered.

"Open his zipper, stud."

He swallowed and hesitantly reached out. Perhaps he'd undressed his buddy before. One thing was certain; he'd never done it with someone else looking on. He fumbled with the belt buckle until Matt sucked in his belly and relieved the stress.

No hesitation undoing the metal button, he dragged down the zipper, giggling like a girl on a date.

"Hey Randy, should I take his pants off or just poke it out?"

"Up to you. If it was me and my friend, we'd be totally naked by now. Lots more fun that way."

"You wanna get nude, dude?" Jeff asked.

He wasn't nervous like I expected, squeaky with the raw thrill of undressing completely, his first time in my trailer, his first time in front of me, definitely not his first time with his friend.

"This is so weird," Matt grumbled. He nodded after a few seconds. "You do it first."

Jeff lifted his arms. It slowly sank in; he wanted me to finish what I'd started. I scooped up warm cloth, barely resisting hugging him from behind, feeling supple muscle and bony ribs, his skin unbelievably soft, lifting his T-shirt higher, tugging it over his head. It smelled of him, warm and sweet. I inhaled before I tossed it onto the couch.

Only then, I feasted my eyes on his body, naked except for white athletic socks. My little soccer player was built for center midfield, a bony spine and a slim muscled abdomen tapering to what was probably a 23-inch waist, lightly tanned except for his white rump. It was all I could do not to hug him.

I had a front row seat as Jeff pulled back the front of Matt's jeans and awkwardly tugged them down his pale soft thighs. Matt's underpants were white, Walmart generic, stretched tight around his bottom, pushed down in front, the pouch stained with yellow spots. He wasn't hard.

With a quick jerk, Jeff bared his best friend, from his big innie belly button all the way to his saggy knees. An inch of pink circumcised boy-dick peeked out from under Matt's plump belly, the rest hidden by his pudgy groin, sparse strands of reddish pubic hair sprouting around it. Not surprisingly, his balls had already dropped, dangling like two grapes in a pink hairless bag. It had happened only in last few months, not long enough for his voice to break.

"Now that's what I call a nice set of balls," I teased.

"He makes spooge," Jeff chimed in.

He followed up with a giggle as he pushed Matt's pants down his pale chubby legs. The underpants were adult XL, a skid-mark on the seat.

"Mr. Puberty, eh?" I winked up at Matt.

Matt beamed, seeming unembarrassed about being exposed to me. He helped by unbuttoning his shirt and taking it off, goofily standing with his jeans and underpants tangled around his ankles, his penis already lengthening and lifting up to the ready position.

"You better start using a rubber, dude, or you'll get a girl pregnant before long. You mow my lawn and I'll buy you a couple."

"No way. They hand `em out for free in SOK class," Matt said.

I'd heard about Save Our Kids—it was another initiative of the president's spouse.

"There's cream, brown, and black," Jeff said, back to smirking.

"That's so no one's left out," Matt sneered. "They're mostly kid rubbers with a few adult ones tossed in."

"Those'd be for you, big guy," I said, lightly slapping Jeff's little bare butt.

"It's big enough, that's for sure," he sniggered, flipping his erection up and down.

"The little ones fit him just fine," Matt jeered. "Everyone knows the big ones are there in case we have sex with a grown-up."

"Like I said, that'd be you, Jeff," I said before I could stop myself.

Matt snorted. He got it. Jeff didn't. He was more interested in feeling Matt's pubescent cock. Matt was circumcised too, not like his buddy. He'd been trimmed close to the head, and not as tight.

The more Jeff played with it, the more Matt wriggled and humped—it was obvious the boys were used to mutual pleasuring. Soon, a stubby three-inch erection pointed out from under Matt's belly. It was as big as it was going to get. His pubis bulged around it so that it actually looked a bit shorter, nothing special.

"Are you going to kiss it, or just play with it?" I joked.

Matt pushed his groin forward. "Kiss my dick. I dare you."

He leaned closer, his pink cock poking out from under his belly. Almost immediately, Jeff leaned in and touched his lips to the side. I rubbed his butt to encourage him.

"Wow!" Matt giggled, looking down. "You did it! Do it again!"

"It's good, huh Pumpkin?"

Matt nodded. "Yeah."

Jeff glanced up nervously.

"I dare you to suck it properly," I whispered in his ear.

He jerked back. "I didn't agree to that."

"Don't be a wuz. It's about time you guys did more than jack off."

"What do I do?" he murmured.

"Get it really hard, and give it a nice wet kiss, the same as I did with you," I whispered.

"Do it," Matt jeered. He'd heard every word.

"If you do it to me?" Jeff demanded.

It wouldn't have made a difference if Matt didn't agree. Even before he nodded, Jeff reached out and sheepishly took hold of his best friend's penis. He slowly stroked up and down, a full-hand grip that massaged the head between his thumb and first finger, the way a big-wiener boy masturbated.

"You're really good at it," I murmured.

Obviously, he'd done it so often he knew what felt good.

"Now kiss it, dude," I whispered.

Immediately, he leaned in and kissed the side again, longer this time. He paused, waiting for me to say something, for Matt to make fun of him. After a moment, he put the bell-head in his mouth and closed his lips around it. He lasted a few awkward seconds, long enough to change the rest of his life.

"Fuckin' hell!" Matt's tits wobbled when he exhaled.

"Shut up, Mutt," I growled, patting Jeff's butt. "You done good. First time sucking cock is always the hardest."

Matt didn't hear me. "What's it taste like?"

"Didn't taste like anythin'," Jeff muttered, resting on his haunches.

He breathed deeply, moving his tongue in his mouth, trying to figure it out.

"It oughta taste like piss."

"It's weird Mutty. It's not even bad tasting. Kind of sour, like."

"Do it again."

Jeff didn't move.

"Please." Matt giggled. "Pretty please."

"Do it!" I urged.

I nudged Jeff's bony shoulder, guiding him to finish what he'd started.

"It's what gays do."

I wasn't about to tell him he was already headed for the three trailers they joked about. First, he had to get used to the idea, get past the shame and guilt that came from being tormented at school.

"Having Matt's dick in your mouth is not going to hurt you."

"I'm so not doing it again!"

"You said you're too young to know if you're gay. Not so sure now, huh?" I teased.

He screwed around to look at me. Maybe it was my imagination, or wishful thinking; I was certain he wanted to do more than suck dick, and not just with Matt.

My gaze dropped with his, honing in on his crotch. I stared at aroused boyhood, unable to look away, telling myself that it only because he was over-endowed, yet knowing otherwise.

"Look at that cock!" Matt clearly approved.

Jeff looked down again. Now fully extended, it stuck out like a teenager, ready to fuck, the skin stretched taut. No wonder, he grinned.

"Whoever circumcised you, knew how to make a boy look sexy," I said.

On a skinny preteen, it was a dangerous weapon, even unloaded. Exotic and erotic, like an `I like guys' sign was on. Only the head stood in the way of perfection—it was tiny, barely flared, like a cherry perched on top.

"My dick has an inferiority complex when he's boned," Matt joked.

I almost laughed. "What do you feed him?" I asked.

Still grinning, Jeff wrapped his hand around it and squeezed, his little red knob protruding rudely out of his fist. Not many eleven-year-old boys could do that.

Amid giggles, he finally got out, "Pussy."

"No pussy until you stop shooting blanks. Make do with your hand for a while longer."

"He's tired of being jacked, Randy."

Matt looked at me pointedly. "Find someone to suck it, Dumbass."

For a few seconds, I thought about telling them to get dressed and leave.

Jeff turned away, an awkward few moments before he whispered. "It's okay, Ran. I know you want to."

I looked up, meeting his eyes. "You're sure you want this?"

"You don't have to, Ran." He turned again, even more nervous. "I'm just pretending, okay?"

I caressed the side of his groin, one finger brushing the little folds of his scrotum, prodding little boy-eggs, my thumb stroking gently above and around. I'd never touched anything as smooth and soft. His dick did push-ups; big, beautiful, and not a single hair, not even fuzz.

Matt fingered his recently furred cock. "You want to kiss it again, JP?"

"In a bit," Jeff snapped. "Um, Randy..." He took a deep breath. "Um... you want to suck it?"

I licked my lips as my fingers sought out his testes, cradling them, feeling them move with each breath. With his oversized erection, they were tiny, yet normal-sized for his age. With luck they'd stay tiny small for a couple more years.

"There's a bigger question."

I hesitated, trying my best to figure out how to say it, knowing boys went through a phase of being attracted to men. Certain that was the problem, yet it put both of us on the spot.

"Do you want me, like that, or as a friend?"

He avoided my eyes. "I don't know what I want... I really like you."

"You sick freak." Matt shoved his arm.

"If you don't want me, it's okay Jeff," I said calmly.

"Didn't say that, did I?"

He smiled, sucked on his little finger, thinking it through.

"'Do I have to say right now?"

"You don't have to say or do anything, Jeff."

"I want to do something... Okay." He smiled, kind of zany. "I want you like that; if you want me."

"You're crazy, man!"

"Shut up, Matt!" He hesitated, yet another big step for him. "So, you want me, Randy?"

"Are you sure?"

"Jesus! Stop asking about that. Just suck my dick, before I change my mind."

I laughed, and he laughed, and I picked him up and dumped him, sprawling on the couch, tickling his naked sexy boy-body while his best friend looked on in disbelief.

Suddenly, his legs parted, wide, leaving his groin more exposed than ever. Impossibly, I focused on his balls, almost non-existent. Then, his oversized cock bounced up and down. It twitched, jabbed, and throbbed right in front of me, until I couldn't resist. I grabbed it, hot and hard and shameless. It was as full of life as he was, twisting and writhing and mock-punching me, because he wanted it to be a game—it was too serious to be anything else.

"Suck my dick, Randy. Go on, suck it," he laughed, shoving my hand away and slapping his erection on my face.

I did what any boy-lover would do; I went down on him. I swallowed him whole, big boy-cock and little boy-balls, filling my mouth and some of my throat, slathering spit over his hairless groin so it slid right in and moved around easily and felt absolutely, utterly incredible.

He yelped and grunted and humped at my head until I let him go.

"He sucked your junk. All of it," Matt murmured.

"How was it, on a scale of ten?" I asked, licking my lips.

Stunned, Jeff looked like he wasn't sure if it was a one or a ten, or he didn't have an opinion, either way. I leaned over him, planted my lips on his sleek, lithe belly and blew as hard as I could. It sounded like someone farting. He came back to life, giggling, pushing and pulling on my head crazily.

I went back for a second wet smooch, working my way down to his crotch, spreading my saliva over him, his big-boy erection bumping my nose. It was hot and silky smooth, and as hard as steel inside. I felt his balls, like tiny nuggets tucked tight underneath.

"So good, Randy. Go for it all. That's awesome good."

Instead, I smooched on his pubis, all around his straining boy-dick, doing everything but put my lips on it. He wriggled under me, pushing his cock at my mouth. I avoided it until he gave up. Only then did I suck it, just his cock, playing with his little nuts while I dreamed about getting into his butt.

He'd be tight as a fist. He'd probably cry. He'd grimace; however, he wouldn't stop me. Instead, I hugged him, slurping up and down on this hot throbbing shaft, fully aware his best friend was staring at us.

"You're one weird fuckin' sicko," Matt muttered.

Suddenly, Jeff tried to shove my head away. I gave him another smooch and lifted up. He was red-faced.

"How was that?"

"Okay, I guess," he squeaked.

He thrust a pillow between his thighs, covering himself, wiping off two minutes of spit.

"How about I do Mutt next?" I grinned at Matt.

Honestly, the thought of having his pasty little dick in my mouth didn't do a damned thing for me.

Matt scowled, clearly upset and getting angry. "How about not!"

Jeff jumped up from the couch, his oversized penis sticking straight out. He leaned down, his lips at my ear.

"I'll be back."

Pure treble voice, and trying his best not to giggle; still he had Arnold down.

"Tomorrow, after practice."

Blowing me a closeup kiss, he headed to my bedroom, my eyes glued to his perfect white butt.

"I think he wants you to follow him, Matt," I teased.

Matt started to waddle. He almost tripped on his pants before he reached the door.

They left the door wide open. I heard lots of muffled whispers, what sounded like heavy breathing. That saying about boys not liking to kiss was a lie. They kissed when they really liked each other, when they thought they were safe. It was boys who weren't sure, boys who were scared to be themselves who hung back. Mutt and Jeff didn't hang back. The smooching went on for nearly ten minutes.

I was standing outside the door when Jeff giggled. He giggled until he cried, `enough already.' Matt's turn lasted mere minutes. After that, my life didn't seem so bad.