Copyright 2008, 2012 by Carl Mason

All rights reserved. Other than downloading one copy for strictly personal enjoyment, no part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, except for reviews, without the written permission of the author. However based on real events and places, "Mike Hennigan" is strictly fictional. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. As in real life, sexual themes unfold gradually. Comments on the story are appreciated and may be addressed to the author at carl_mason@verizon.net.

If you would like to read additional stories by this author, please turn to the "Authors/Prolific Authors" link at the beginning of the Nifty Archive.

This story contains descriptions of sexual contact between males, both adults and teenagers. As such, it is homoerotic fiction designed for the personal enjoyment of legal, hopefully mature, adults. If you are not of legal age to read such material, if those in power and/or those whom you trust treat it as illegal, or if it would create unresolvable moral dilemmas in your life, please leave. Finally, remember that maturity generally demands safe sex.


(Revisiting Chapter 1)

It was finally agreed - though no one was particularly happy with, or proud of, the decision - that Mike would permanently leave Kansas. His mother had a younger sister in Southern California who would provide shelter for him until he could finish his high school diploma and get a job. Mike would be responsible for seeking someone with whom he could vent before rising pressures resulted in getting into more trouble. In the course of giving the lad a rather thorough education in what could happen were such an incident to be repeated, Lieutenant Benson suggested that a local LGBTQ (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender/ Transsexual, and Questioners) Center might help.

On a beautiful spring day, Mike boarded a bus that would eventually take him to Playa de Oro [pronounced "PLAH-yah-DOR-oh" by the locals; also referred to simply as "PLAH-yah"], a city of sixty some odd thousand inhabitants on the Southern California coast between Los Angeles and San Diego. To some extent, Mike was relieved. By the time he left, he was convinced that no one in town would ever look at him without disgust. A new beginning was necessary. Besides, he was old enough to handle his own life. He was determined to do just that!

(Continuing Our Story: City by the Sea)

Mike wondered if he could bottle some of the sunshine and warmth that greeted his arrival on the Southern California coast and ship it back to his mother. Man, he thought, it was so beautiful! Greeted warmly by his aunt and noticing that neither she nor anyone else was looking at him with suspicion or disgust, much of the dread and sense of impending doom that had hung heavy on him began to lift from his shoulders. Oh, sure, the heavy traffic sucked. By the time they pulled up at a simple frame house in a working class neighborhood, however, he was even looking forward to meeting her husband, a union butcher. His greeting that night was hardly effusive, but the house rules didn't appear to be all that bad.

He quickly discovered that most guys his age were still in school for another two weeks. In truth, that didn't bother him too much, for making friends was not especially high on his list of things to do. Also, he did decide that completing his high school studies could not be completed immediately. Rather, it could probably be accomplished in night school when he had secured a job. As for touching bases with the local LGBTQ Center? Well, that was probably the last thing on his list for the immediate future. He needed a new beginning rather than rubbing his nose in the past!

Over the next couple of days, he explored Playa de Oro on foot, first hiking out of the flatlands along the coast into the hills that rose up towards the cliffs and mountains beyond. Not only did his head begin to feel better as he stretched his body, but he was able to get a panoramic view of the area. To the north, for instance, lay the "industrial" districts of the city, comprised in the main of light industrial businesses, e.g., warehouses and distributors. On the far side of that area, however, along a deepwater bay, he saw docks, cranes, and several merchantmen tied up at the piers that suggested a reasonably busy cargo business.

South of the city proper, there was a fairly large beach district. As best he could tell, it appeared to be old, even run down. Still there was one feature that really turned him on...the beaches...oh, man, the beaches! That which appeared to be the main beach was a place of wide, golden sands and, he was assured by two mid-teens who suddenly appeared. Eye candy par excellence... "You'll see women there, dude, who are so hot they'll fry your cahones!" groaned the older drink of water, grabbing his package to seal the point. The older youth (Phil) continued to serve as Mike's tour guide, pointing to a small peninsula jutting out into the ocean somewhat further to the south. "On the far side of the peninsula you'll find 'Second Beach'," Phil added with obvious pleasure. "Seems to me that the surf is always up - and a lot of other things," he added with a wide grin. "You gotta board, dude?" he asked in a friendly manner. "Me, my cousin, and you could have a real blast." When Mike nodded sadly that he didn't, he continued. "A bit further south towards 'Dego', there's a small 'clothing optional' beach that's well protected by surrounding cliffs." "Popular?" asked Mike. "Nah," Phil moaned. "There's always a couple of Sheriff's Deputies around who won't let anyone have any fun. And they've got dogs!" "Bummer..." observed Mike, already beginning to adapt to the Cali jargon.

"I see buildings on the cliffs above the beaches, Phil. What's up there?" the young Kansan asked. "Well," Phil said, "that first group is the local campus of the California State University." Matty (the cousin) broke in with one of his rare comments, "Yeah, they're real proud of it around here, but I think it's a place for guys who can't do anything else!" "Uhmm," Mike replied, quickly adding, "And how about those large buildings further down?" "Mostly homes built by rich fucks who made tons of money in the early days when more films were shot down here than in Hollywood," Phil replied. "Nice places...though the people are kinda weird. Sometimes two or three of us will get invited to one of their pool parties." With a leer, he added, "Fun...but you kinda have to be careful when you bend over...if you get what I mean." "Yeah, I guess," replied Mike, not having the slightest idea as to what Phil was talking about.

After a few more minutes of conversation, invitations to stop by Second Beach, and thanks, the boys split up. For his part, Mike made his way back through the small city towards his aunt's house. (He did walk through a couple of beautifully groomed, wealthier neighborhoods, noting some differences in housing that were considerably greater than in his town back home.) Passing through a rather lame "downtown", he decided that there were about twenty better places to spend your money in the shopping centers that dotted the entire area. He vowed to check out a couple of the most appealing that he had seen from the bus on the way in from L.A. It wasn't long before he reached the older neighborhoods that were generally closer to the industrial districts of the city. Whistling a happy tune and with a light heart, he jogged up the steps and into the house. Suddenly, he noticed that Aunt Laura and her husband were seated at the kitchen table. (What was he doing home at this hour?) They didn't look happy...and just inside the front door he was still some distance from them. "We need to talk," the butcher exclaimed. "Get over here."

"I had to stop working twice today, Mike, to take phone calls about you. I need to ask you some questions," the butcher said in a matter-of-fact voice. His wife sat silently, her face tearstained, her fingers twisting an embroidered handkerchief. When she tried to say something, he glared at her, whereupon she promptly retreated back into the woodwork.

"Back in Kansas, Mike, did you molest a little kid for whom you had responsibility?" Mike's face turned white as the torrent of questions battered him like a raging mountain river. "Did you play with his cock? Did the police bring you down to the station? Did one of the cops keep you from being sent to prison? Did your mother help you to leave town?" As the youth sat at the table in stunned silence, he felt somehow that the darkness in his life would never lift. Finally, the thickset man, still wrapped in his bloody work apron, opened his mouth and spewed out the worst of his poison: "Mike, are you queer?"

After a relatively brief, and decidedly one-sided, "conversation", the butcher rose from the table, cleared his throat, looked at his wife, and proclaimed, "Well, girl, I ain't gonna live under the same roof with a queer. You're gonna have to decide between that fudge-packer and a real man. I'm goin' down to the hardware store to get me some stuff to change the locks on the doors. If the fag is here when I return, I'll just grab my stuff and keep goin'."

Tears streaming down his face, Mike trudged away from the only home he had late on the afternoon of his eighteenth birthday. Only days would pass before the few things that he carried with him would have been jettisoned or stolen. These were days that scarred his soul.

(Going Homeless)

For going on two weeks, Mike lived on the street and on the sand. His favorite place to sleep was under an old cement bridge way out on Pearson Road. It hadn't been razed when the road had later dead-ended a short distance further towards the beach. There were shadowy figures about who never seemed completely real, and others who intruded into life in ways that couldn't be ignored. When possible, he tried to avoid them all, instinctively finding them dangerous.

Needless to say, he was always hungry. Had it not been for a young straight Asian couple who shared a few crusts with him and showed him which restaurant and fast food dumpsters were worth checking out, he would have gone even hungrier. He hunted for food every day and tried to share something - even a small something - with them. She was pregnant. Thankfully, that May warmed up quickly and little clothing was necessary. In fact, when a spring shower dampened most of the clothing he had brought with him, he simply got rid of it. Washing? Mike found that the best way to wash, body and clothes, was simply to jump into the ocean with his clothes on. It could be hard on the skin, could leave his hair somewhat sticky, and often left the clothes dingy, but, hey, he wasn't modeling for detergent ads! If fresh water were available (e.g., the fresh water showers at First Beach when the watchman wasn't around), he naturally took advantage of it.

In truth, the young man was merely existing, rather than living...and Mike knew it. (He also knew, however, that he had to get through this period.) It was natural that his frustrations mounted. For example, as the weather rapidly warmed up, the heavier pants he had brought from Kansas were increasingly uncomfortable. His answer was to go down to the Goodwill in one of the poorer parts of town and go through several free clothing hampers. There wasn't much wear left in most of the free stuff, but he did find a pair of shorts that weren't too bad. In terms of today's fashions, they lacked something, but on many days he was damned happy to be wearing shorts, even shorts that barely reached to mid thigh and sported wide leg openings! Despite being a bit on the baggy side, there was one button and at least enough elastic remaining in the waist to keep them up! He only had trouble with them on one occasion.

Wanting to get away from the sleazier beach neighborhoods, Mike retreated to a beautiful wooded and landscaped park in a very wealthy part of town. The night was warm and beautiful....dark, a little breeze, low humidity, and the scent of flowers against a background of evergreen. Strangely, he saw no one as he entered the park. Finding a protected spot well back into the woods, he stopped and dropped onto a bench. Almost immediately, a sharp, "late 20s business man" type sat down beside him. In the midst of conversation (e.g., "What in hell happened to the Padres [the San Diego pro baseball team] last week?"), he nonchalantly rested his hand midway on Mike's thigh. When the youngster didn't explode in anger or shake it off, there were comments about his "great build," and the fingers began slithering their way towards his crotch. Unfortunately - or fortunately, as the case may be - Mike hadn't brought any briefs with him! Thus, after only the slightest amount of slithering, the predatory fingers found themselves confronting their mesmerized prey. With the smooth demeanor of a stock broker who commonly hid his snakish temper, the fingers of the man's other hand reached into Mike's waist and undid the only button on his shorts. At the very instant that the smooth nose of the beast, the Great Deceiver, first kissed its trembling prey, Mike responded to a signal to rise slightly, whereupon he was divested of those bloody shorts. Moaning, breathing raspily, instinctively moving his legs further apart...sobbing and groaning in his need...Mike offered no resistance to being swallowed head first. After all, that's what snakes do. Indeed, his only regret was that the young man left nearly as soon as he had dined.

Mike soon realized that the other teens in the "Pearson Bridge Gang" had to subsist, just as he did. Only days has passed before he began observing their behavior throughout the day and night. Additionally, there was one very quiet, submissive lad, Eddie, with whom Mike had exchanged a few words on rare occasion. It wasn't long before he realized that they were acquiring the necessities of life, such as food and clothing, by selling themselves. At first, this really turned him off, but less than a week had passed before hunger...and increasing horniness led him to ask Eddie to teach him the basics. (The lessons would have gone down easier if Eddie hadn't been one of the filthiest and smelliest human beings he had ever encountered!) On the second evening, after Mike had cleaned himself up as best he could, Eddie said he could accompany him...as long as half of any money he earned was turned over. Some distance into town, they reached their base of operations. The wide S-curve had never been eliminated from the old state highway that ran for miles above sandstone bluffs that were gradually working their way out of the wild surf below. Cars (at least those whose drivers were in the know) slowed down, halted for a moment or two, and checked the menu for whatever they found of interest. Mike and Eddie hadn't been there for ten minutes when a flashy car stopped with a squeal of tires. When Eddie returned from the open window, he said that the john, a half potted college student, wanted to "fuck and suck". He was especially interested in "two for the price of one." (Obviously, Eddie had plenty of the entrepreneurial spirit!)

After some paper had changed hands, Mike watched his teammate give the student a real - and, seemingly, a thoroughly professional - ride. Pushing the little guy to the side like some chopped liver that no longer interested him, the john's unsteady gaze then locked onto Mike. Probably in his early 20s and something of an athlete, he gestured for Mike to come closer. "How about it, Muscles, wanna get it on?" Unable to say a word, Mike nodded slightly and crouched down beside the john. Casually, as if he didn't expect very much, the guy stuck his hand up a leg of Mike's shorts. His eyes widened as he realized that he was holding something far too large for his digits to control. Remembering one of his lessons, Mike tried to smile and in a choked voice tell him that he could continue. Telling Mike to "lie back and take it easy," the collegian quickly stripped the youth and began worshiping a body that he immediately realized belonged in a magazine spread or, maybe, on a Bel Ami or William Higgins Internet site. There was nothing "casual" about this john's techniques now! He wanted this boy...now...and again and again!

Fear never crossed Mike's mind, nor did the slightest embarrassment about his inexperience. Guided by a seasoned cocksman who played his body with consummate skill, he simply writhed on the damp earth, responding to every one of the stud's moves with a flaming passion that he never thought he possessed. Others out for an evening's entertainment gathered around as the two bodies, violently twisting and thrashing, recalled contests in the coliseums of yore. Finally, making not the slightest effort to control his responses, Mike felt his body stiffen like a steel girder and then explode in exquisite bursts of heat and molten lava. Evidently, he passed out for a full minute, not regaining his senses until he felt the stud pulling him up onto his feet and holding him against his own naked body. Without thought or word, their lips sought each other as hands and fingers caressed their hair, sweaty foreheads, the heavy muscles of their backs and muscled buttocks. Finally realizing that his prize seemed rather embarrassed as if unfamiliar with the end game, the college stud separated himself, reached down into his jeans, snagged a sizeable bill, and pressed it into the hand of the radiantly grinning youngster. Walking back towards his car, he exclaimed loudly, "I want to see you again, you know." As the sports car fired up and rumbled slowly back onto the road, the newly baptized youth could only yell, "I'm coming back...I'll be back here...Watch for me...Watch for me!" Losing his balance, he sat back down on the ground with a thump and a grimace. In awe, Eddie reached out his hand.

In the morning - not because he felt guilty, but because the new eighteen year old felt so DAMNED GOOD for a change - Mike cleaned up as best he could, donned his one halfway decent shirt and trousers, together with socks and shoes (which he rarely wore anymore), and headed off for Mass.

(To Be Continued)