RENEGADES & OUTLAWS
By Pink Panther
Just in case there is any doubt, let's make it clear. Neither I nor Nifty can accept any responsibility for any unfortunate consequences that might arise as a result of your decision to read this story. Right! That's got that over with!
This story contains depictions of sexual interactions involving underage boys, both among themselves and with adult males. If this is not the type of material you wish to read, I'd suggest you'd better go some place else.
For those of you not familiar with my stories, may I just say that I will be posting one chapter per week. I submit chapters on Thursdays so that they appear in time for the weekend.
Thanks to everyone who has written in so far. Not as many as I've had for previous stories, but it has been suggested that this one starts more slowly than most of the others, and I guess it does. But things do build up; I can assure you of that! Meanwhile more feedback will be very welcome. Please send your comments to email@example.com and I'll reply as soon as I can.
After lunch, they moved to the front lounge room so that Mark and Ryan could work on some new tunes. Josh watched them quietly. He was fascinated; Mark was so patient, explaining everything and encouraging Ryan every step of the way. He was impressed too by the way that Ryan did exactly what his uncle said. Ryan didn't always do as he was told. Although very clever, he was often in trouble at school for disobeying the teachers. There was no question of that here; Ryan was hanging onto Mark's every word.
They began with the tune `Nature Boy', spending the first ten minutes making sure that Ryan was familiar with the melody, the chord sequence and most important of all, the timing. This was jazz; it had to swing.
"Ready to give it a go?" Mark asked, smiling.
Ryan nodded. Mark counted them in and they were off. On the first chorus, Mark played the melody while Ryan played the accompanying chords. They reversed roles on the following two choruses, Mark playing the chords while Ryan improvised a solo. It was okay, Josh thought, but it was obvious that Ryan was finding it hard to improvise over the unfamiliar changes. Then it was Mark's turn. He only took a single chorus, but the difference was obvious; his solo sounding fluent and melodic. Finally, they reprised the tune, bringing it to a close.
"Not bad at all!" Mark commented, smiling at Ryan. "Okay?"
"Yeah," Ryan acknowledged, grinning back. "You know that bit in your solo where it went . . ." He sang a few notes, using his left hand to simulate what the fingering looked like.
Mark thought for a moment then played through the figure he thought Ryan was referring to.
"That bit?" he enquired.
"Yeah, that's it!" Ryan responded eagerly.
Mark played it again, slowing it right down so that Ryan could learn the fingering.
"Okay, let's play it together," he instructed.
Ryan's first few attempts were faltering, littered with mistakes.
"No problem," Mark said gently. "Let's try again."
Gradually his patience was rewarded. After around five minutes Ryan could play it perfectly, and a few minutes later he could play it at the proper speed.
"Well done! Mark said, smiling warmly. "I knew you could do it. Okay let's play; then we'll try something else."
Josh listened intently as they played the tune for a second time. This time Ryan's solo sounded much better, far more confident; he even managed to include the figure they'd just been working on. By quarter past four they'd been through three new tunes. Josh thought that Ryan played them all pretty well.
"I've got to go, I'm afraid!" Mark announced. "I've got to go home, put my stuff in the car and get over there for six so we can set up and do a sound check."
"Cool!" Ryan acknowledged. "Thanks for coming over; it's been wicked!"
Mark put his guitar in its case; there were hugs and hand-slaps with the boys. Then he was gone.
"He's really good, isn't he?" Josh ventured as the Mercedes glided away towards the main road.
"He's the best, man!" Ryan responded, his voice warm and emphatic, making Josh realise just how close Ryan and his uncle actually were.
"Those tunes are really good," Josh said, changing the subject, "but they don't sound much like the stuff you really want to play, you know, the jazz funk stuff."
"Nah, but that's how you learn, all the chords and scales and stuff," Ryan told him. "It's the way all the top guys started, well, most of them anyway; that's what Uncle Mark says."
"So did he learn like that, then?" Josh asked.
"Nah, his dad wouldn't let him," Ryan said. "He didn't start learning the guitar properly till he was at university. That's why he wants me to do it the right way, so I've got the chance to be a top player if I'm good enough."
"Oh, I see," Josh said, deciding that it all made perfect sense. "Well he sounded very good to me! How good is he, you know, when he plays with the band?"
"Dunno, really," Ryan admitted. "I've never heard him. They never finish playing till late and mum says I'm too young."
Josh grinned and nodded; there was nothing more to be said.
0 o 0 o 0 o 0
Sound-checking at the Robin Hood was never a problem; the place had an excellent stage, a powerful, custom-built PA system with plenty of fold-back and a resident sound engineer who knew his business. The room held two hundred and fifty comfortably; top-name bands could pull in as many as three hundred. They wouldn't get that many, but on a Saturday there'd always be close on two hundred in, more than enough to get a good atmosphere in the place.
After they'd completed the sound check, they'd gone out to a local restaurant for a meal, something they often did on gigs like this, before returning to sit in the lounge bar until it was time to go on. Mark sat back and relaxed, enjoying the company of his five band-mates, all university educated professionals like himself, for whom music was a passion and a hobby, a release from the way they made their living. As a way of spending a summer Saturday evening it would be hard to beat, he decided, and as an added bonus, they were getting paid for it.
They chatted about this and that, occasionally laughing uproariously as saxophonist Keith Brookham regaled them with another story of university life. At thirty five he was the oldest member of the band and the most highly qualified; a senior lecturer at one of the city's universities. If he hadn't been such an excellent musician, Mark speculated, he could have been a stand-up comedian. Or maybe teaching psychology for a living was like being a stand-up comedian.
Of the others, bass player Paul was a software engineer, Ian, the drummer, worked as an estimator for a construction company, vocalist Shaun was a freelance web designer, and keyboard player Craig taught history at the city's most prestigious boys' school. They were all excellent musicians, with solid technique and a great feel for the music they played.
The band had been going for five years. Over the period since, they'd built up a strong local following. Their music had what many young people were looking for, a bit of intellectual sophistication and a bit of balls. Make that a lot of balls. It was a testament to the reputation they'd built up that the Robin Hood had booked them for a Saturday night.
For Mark, joining the band was the best thing he could have done. He loved his job in the actuarial department of a large insurance company, but it was pure brain work and very intense. Renegade was the perfect way for him to get away and let his hair down. As they all had well-paid jobs, they could afford to play the music they wanted to play, the way they wanted to play it, punchy, hard-assed, jazz-funk and jazz-influenced rock, with everyone given the plenty of chance to express themselves. It could be very loud when they wanted it to be, with driving rhythms, wild, soaring solos, Shaun's soulful, gravelly vocals and accents so powerful they stung your ears.
Being in the band served another purpose too; it kept him out of trouble, boy trouble. Mark had discovered where his sexual attraction lay a few months after starting at the boys' grammar school a couple of miles from his home. As a twelve and thirteen year old he'd enjoyed mutual masturbation sessions with a few of his classmates, but at the start of year nine and approaching his fourteenth birthday he found they didn't want to do it any more; it was `gay'.
That had been a considerable disappointment, but there was nothing he could do about it. Like most teenagers he was desperate to fit in; when his friends began dating girls, he followed suit. Acquiring a girlfriend was never a problem; he was a good looking boy, with a relaxed, easy-going manner and a great sense of humour. He always had plenty of offers.
At first, he thought that his attraction to boys was something he'd grow out of; he'd find the right girl and everything would be okay. It didn't happen; by the time he was seventeen he knew it wasn't for him. He'd discovered something else too. It was no longer boys his own age that he was attracted to, it was the younger boys, ones about the age that he'd been when he'd first had sex. That was scary; he couldn't ever admit to that. So he'd maintained the deception, right through school and on to university.
Mark had begun learning piano at the age of seven. He practised conscientiously enough but never took it that seriously. He'd been at grammar school for just over a year when one of the older boys introduced him to the music of some of the top rock guitarists of the time, guys like Eddie van Halen and Gary Moore. He'd been mesmerised, inspired; that was what he wanted to do!
He'd asked his parents to buy him a guitar, but they'd refused. Not to be put off, he'd taken on a paper round, saving as much of his earnings as he could. In addition he saved all his birthday and Christmas present money. Finally, at the Christmas after he turned fourteen, he had saved enough and bought the guitar himself. His father disapproved strongly, but Mark was not to be dissuaded. He'd set about learning to play, but with nobody to guide him, that was no easy matter. He soon mastered the licks that most of the blues and rock guitarists play, but it wasn't until he was at university that he started to learn about jazz chords and scales; his playing had taken off from there.
Mark had never had much interest in sport. He disliked ball games, which annoyed his father who thought he should have at least tried for the school rugby and cricket teams, but Mark simply wasn't interested. He did represent the school at both swimming and track athletics, although he never trained for either.
Academically, however, he had been one of his grammar school's success stories. His parents were both linguists; his father lectured in modern foreign languages at the university and his mother was head of modern languages at a large school not far from where they lived. They'd assumed that he would follow in their footsteps, but Mark's real talent was maths. For his `A' levels he chose double maths, French and German, and after sitting the entrance examination, he won a scholarship to read maths at Cambridge, graduating three years later with first-class honours.
Realising his attraction to boys, he considered a career in teaching, but rejected it for several reasons. First, it was not something he'd ever wanted to do. Second, by the time he graduated, the anti-paedophile witch-hunt was already in full swing; teaching in those circumstances would have been impossible. The temptations would have been far too great and staying out of jail was definitely one of his priorities. The final reason was financial. Teaching paid reasonably well initially, but promotion and salary advancement were slow. Armed with a first class honours degree, there were more lucrative options. He'd accepted a position as a trainee actuary, a decision he had never regretted.
That still left his sexual desires unfulfilled, but he had not long left university when he discovered that the sort of boys he liked were quite readily available, for a modest consideration, in various parts of the world, and as long as one was discreet, the authorities largely turned a blind eye. Over the period since, he had spent his annual leave in a number of different locations, sampling whatever delights were on offer. It was less than ideal, but in the circumstances, it was the best available.
"Time to make a move," Keith announced.
Mark checked his watch. It was five to nine; they were due onstage at quarter past. They strolled out of the bar and through the private entrance that led to the band room. The place had a great set-up, the band room giving direct access to the stage; no having to walk through the audience like they did at most gigs. They changed into their stage clothes. This was rock `n' roll; looking the part was important. In any case, they'd all get hot and sweaty, out there under the lights for almost two hours; they'd need a change of clothes for afterwards.
"Okay, let's do it," Keith said quietly.
Leaving vocalist Shaun behind, the five instrumentalists trooped out of the band room and onto the stage. It was time to play.
0 o 0 o 0 o 0
Very deliberately, Josh climbed the stairs to his bedroom. It was ten to nine, the time he'd hooked up with Mr. Fox the night before. His heart was racing and his penis already hard. He sat down at the computer and signed into Windows Live. Fantastic Mr. Fox was already there, waiting for him. He began the conversation.
FMF: Hi Josh! How's the tiger this evening?
JT: Pretty good thanks! You know last night after you signed off; I lay on my bed and had a wank. It was fantastic!
FMF: Told you it would be, didn't I?
FMF: Did you go to the pool today?
JT: Yeah, after I went to Ryan's house, his uncle turned up and he took us. You know what?
FMF: Tell me.
JT: All the time me and Ryan were getting changed, his uncle was looking at us!
FMF: Are you sure?
JT: Yeah! Afterwards when I was getting dry, I got a hard-on. He was staring right at it! I saw him looking at Ryan too.
FMF: Oh, I see! So how old's this guy?
JT: About thirty, I think.
FMF: Not a dirty old man then
JT: No he's pretty cool. He's teaching Ryan to play the guitar. Ryan says he's great.
FMF: So d'you think he's doing naughty stuff with Ryan then?
FMF: Why's that?
JT: Well he could have grabbed us underwater while we were playing, but he didn't.
FMF: Oh, I see! So while all this was going on in the changing room, what was Ryan doing?
JT: It was like he was dreaming; he didn't seem to notice anything. He's always like that when he's getting changed. But there was one thing that seemed odd.
JT: Ryan's uncle was naked too. I thought his dick would get hard like yours did, but it didn't.
FMF: That's called self-control. It gets easier as you get older. If anyone saw him with a hard-on when you two were with him he'd be in a lot of trouble, so he makes sure he doesn't get one.
JT: Oh, right! Anyway when we got back to Ryan's house my dick was still hard so I went to the bathroom to have a wank. When it got to the really tingly bit I nearly collapsed! I had to hold onto the water-tank thingy to stop myself falling over!
FMF: It can be pretty intense if you're not used to it. So you won't be doing it standing up again then?
JT: No way! That was scary!
Josh paused for a moment.
JT: What d'you know about the Ukraine?
FMF: Why d'you ask?
JT: Well, before you went to the pool, Ryan's uncle said he was going on holiday soon, so Ryan asked him where he was going and he said the Black Sea. I asked which country that was in and he said the Ukraine. I just thought it was an odd place to go.
FMF: Well, he could be going to visit the historical sites, but I don't think so.
JT: So why d'you think he's going there?
FMF: D'you really want to know?
FMF: To find boys for sex. That's what I think anyway. Ukraine's very poor. There are probably quite a few kids there who are prepared to do stuff for money.
JT: So why didn't he try doing anything with me and Ryan?
FMF: Too close to home, probably. He's much less likely to get in trouble in a place like that.
Josh paused again; it was a great deal to take in.
JT: You know I told you about Tim, the boy I chat with. I'd love to talk to him about, you know.
FMF: So why don't you?
JT: I don't know what to say. I'm worried he'll think I'm gay and won't want to be friends with me.
FMF: How old is he?
JT: Twelve. Nearly thirteen, I think.
FMF: Just ask him if he plays with his cock; see how he reacts. If he gets all huffy, just drop it. If not, explain that you keep getting hard-ons and there's nobody you can talk to about it. From what I know about boys that age, it's quite likely he'll be as keen to talk about it as you are.
JT: Oh, right. I'll have to try that.
FMF: Don't do it in the chat room; you'll get thrown out. You'll have to use Messenger.
FMF: What about your mate Ryan?
JT: I'd love to talk to him about it too.
FMF: Well, go on then! Ask him if he plays with it. Didn't you tell me he was bigger than you?
JT: Yeah! And he wears really trendy clothes and styles his hair. Everyone thinks he's at least twelve.
FMF: How big's his cock?
JT: A bit bigger than mine. I've never seen it hard though.
FMF: When did he start styling his hair?
JT: About a year ago I think
FMF: Probably about the time he started playing with his cock!
JT: That's funny! LOL!! So d'you think I should ask him?
FMF: Yeah! You might get to do some stuff together.
JT: What sort of stuff?
FMF: Fun stuff!
JT: Yeah, but what?
Simon took a deep breath. What should he do now? He wasn't complaining, but things were moving along very fast. He checked himself. He'd prepared for this; the opportunity had finally come along and he simply had to take it.
FMF: I'm going to send you something. Will you promise to get rid of it afterwards?
JT: I promise!
A thumbnail appeared in Josh's message window. He clicked on the `Accept' button just below it. Seconds later the full-size picture appeared in his window. Josh stared at it in disbelief. Two boys of about his age, one dark, one fair and both stark naked, were fondling each other.
JT: Wow! They are playing with each other's dicks! That is so cool!!
He paused licking his lips, unable to take his eyes off it.
JT: Can't I keep it? PLEEEEEEASE!!!
FMF: It's safer if you get rid of it.
JT: Nobody else ever looks at this computer. And I've got a password on my account so nobody's going to find it; I promise.
FMF: How often do you change your password?
JT: I didn't know you were supposed to.
FMF: Yeah, you should change it every two or three weeks; keeps things much safer.
JT: Okay I'll do that.
FMF: I'll give you a new password to use.
JT: What is it?
FMF: Mr. Willy Wonka
JT: That's naughty! LOL!!
FMF: Yeah, okay then! You can keep it if you want. Just make sure nobody finds it.
Josh quickly saved the photo.
JT: Got any more?
Another thumbnail appeared. Josh accepted it. Moments later, two more naked boys appeared, doing exactly the same thing. He saved that one too. A third thumbnail followed. When it opened up it was similar to the first two, but Josh liked this one best of all.
JT: Wow! That sort of looks like me and Ryan! Well, a bit anyway!
Simon sucked in air, gently stroking his throbbing penis. He could hardly believe that this was the polite, obviously well-behaved kid he'd started chatting to barely three weeks earlier. Even when Josh had first asked about getting erections, he'd seemed very nervous. But it was no time for thinking like that; he'd struck oil! If he fluffed this chance he might never get another one.
FMF: I bet you'd love to be doing that with him!
FMF: So are you hard?
FMF: Can I see it?
Josh didn't even hesitate, standing up in front of the camera, pulling down his shorts and briefs and lifting his tee-shirt. Simon was consumed with lust; this wasn't oil he'd struck; it was pure gold!
FMF: Stand back a bit.
Josh readily complied, his boy-parts coming perfectly into focus.
FMF: Beautiful! Move the chair back a bit and sit down.
Josh did as he was told, allowing Simon to see him from the top of his head down to his knees.
FMF: Turn around slightly, not all the way just a bit.
Josh turned some forty degrees to his right then settled back in the chair, running the fingers of his right hand along his shaft.
FMF: Fantastic! You are so sexy! D'you want to see some more?
JT: Yeah, please!
The next picture depicted two slightly older boys, and was much larger, filling the entire screen. A boy with short brown hair, a large circumcised penis and a crop of thick, dark pubes was fondling the slim uncut penis of a boy with darker, longer hair.
JT: Cool! The boy doing the fondling doesn't seem to like it much; he's not hard.
FMF: Wait till you see the next picture when he's doing something that's much more fun!
JT: What's that?
FMF: Oh, boys can do lots of fun stuff together.
Yet another thumbnail appeared. Josh opened the picture. The boy with the large penis was having it sucked by another lad, though not the boy in the previous shot.
JT: Wow! He's sucking the kid's dick!
FMF: And he seems to like it, doesn't he?
JT: Doesn't it taste horrible?
FMF: Doesn't taste of anything much; a bit like sucking your finger. I love doing it.
Another large picture followed. A slim fair haired boy was having his penis sucked by a dark haired lad kneeling in front of him. Josh was mesmerised, saving one picture after another.
In the next picture, two dark haired boys who could have been twins were lying on a bed. The boy to the right was sucking the one to the left; the boy to his left had his arm stretched out, fondling the one to the right.
JT: I like that one! They both seem to be enjoying it!
FMF: I'm not surprised; it feels great!
In the following two pictures there were three boys involved in the sucking and fondling. That was wild, Josh thought, and all the boys seemed to like it.
FMF: Want to see something that's even more fun?
Josh was disappointed when he saw that the thumbnail was black and white, but he opened it up anyway. His eyes widened. Two boys were lying top to toe. They were sucking each other!
FMF: That's called a 69.
JT: Sixty nine? Oh I get it! That's DIRTY!! LOL!!
Two similar pictures followed, though these were in colour. Josh couldn't take his eyes off them; he'd simply never imagined boys doing things like that. It was so exciting!
FMF: That's all for tonight, I'm afraid.
JT: That's cool! Thanks for letting me keep them. I promise nobody will find them.
He paused for a few seconds.
JT: I'd love to do that with Ryan.
FMF: I bet you would! And I bet he'd love it too! Put the chair back where you had it before. I want to watch you wank off.
Josh hesitated. Things had already gone further than he'd intended; he wasn't sure he wanted to do that. But he knew what he did want.
JT: Can I watch you do it like that afterwards? I want to see the spunk come out.
FMF: No problem!
Josh moved the chair back into position, a little way back and turned at an angle to the camera. He sat down and looked up at the monitor. In his video window, Fantastic Mr. Fox was smiling and giving him the thumbs up. Josh swallowed hard, took hold of his penis and began to stroke.
Simon maximised his video window, watching intently, the concentration on Josh's face, the little grimaces, the chest rising and falling, the boy's hand pumping his rigid shaft. The grimaces increased, Josh's head thrown back slightly, his left hand grabbing at his thigh. There was a shuddering climax, the boy's body wracked by violent spasms. Josh sank back in the chair, breathing heavily, carefully unwrapping his hand from around his all too sensitive penis.
Simon let out a low whistle. He'd seen boy webcams before, but had rarely seen anything to compare with that. In the space of a few weeks this obviously middle class kid with the large, expensively furnished bedroom had turned into a complete horn-dog! He returned to the conversation screen.
FMF: That was fantastic! You're the sexiest kid I've ever met! Okay, my turn now!
Josh moved the chair back so he was in sitting in front of the computer, his eyes glued to the screen. Fantastic Mr. Fox moved into position and removed his polo shirt. He settled himself on the chair and began to masturbate. It didn't take long. Quite deliberately, he hadn't ejaculated since the previous evening, and after the show Josh had put on for him he was hornier than he could ever remember. Within half a minute his penis jerked into action, rope after rope of thick, creamy spunk spurting powerfully over his chest, some even landing on his face.
JT: That was wicked! You've shot all over yourself!
FMF: That's you getting me so excited!
JT: Can I see it?
Simon pulled his chair forward, his chest directly in front of the camera.
JT: It looks all gooey.
FMF: It is! When you first start squirting it's clear and watery, but over a few months it turns white and sticky. Anyway, it's time I wasn't here! Goodnight kid! You're the best! Chat again soon!
JT: Yeah! Goodnight!
They both signed out. Josh flopped back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He'd never intended to do that, but once he'd started he just couldn't stop. His parents would be horrified if they knew what he'd done. But they didn't know because they weren't there, and as long as he didn't say anything, they never would.
Maybe he'd stop chatting to Mr. Fox for a bit. His parents would be at home for the next few evenings; at least his mum would, so he wouldn't be able to do it anyway. He still wanted to chat to Tim though. He wanted to talk to Ryan too, see if he really would want to do stuff like Mr. Fox said, but he had no idea when he'd get the chance.
Then there were the pictures he'd saved. He shouldn't have done that. Maybe he ought to get rid of them. No good just deleting them though; he'd have to completely erase them. He almost got up to do it, but stopped himself. Did he really need to do that? Nobody was going to find them. What if the computer went wrong and had to go in to be mended? They'd find them then. But that was silly, he'd only had it for a year and it hadn't shown the slightest sign of going wrong, so there was no need to do it straight away. He'd think about it.
At first, chatting to Mr. Fox about sex had seemed to help, but it wasn't helping now; it was making it worse. It wasn't that he didn't like chatting to Mr. Fox; he did like it, but he ended up doing stuff, well, stuff he knew he shouldn't be doing. It was all so confusing!