Mom and Dad used to yell a lot. It used to get really scary. Now the court says he’s got to go to work on a oil rig and we don’t get all the yelling, but I miss him something fierce. Maybe it’s because I’m the only boy here now. Mom and Sharon have both got jobs, and they did a deal with my big sister Laura, who’s near twice as old as me, and bought her an old Toyota in exchange for looking after me daytimes while it’s summer vacation.
I think they bumped her allowance some, too, because of me being a pain. Anyway, everybody’s told me over and over that I’ve got to be good and do what Laura says. I dunno why boys even like girls: always bossing you around. Sometimes I think I’ve got three moms.
Anyway, “doing what Laura says” means we go over to the scuzzy old mall a lot, so she can hang out with Kyle and check on what he’s doing and stop him from talking to girls. I guess she’s scared about him going away like Dad did.
Kyle’s a really nice guy. He’s been showing me these neat exercises he uses to make his muscles so big, but it’s going to take ages maybe all summer before they work, he says, so I guess I’m going to stay a skinny little rugrat for a while yet.
I like him a lot; especially when he comes around to home and we work on the Toyota. Okay: he works on the car, and I hand him spanners and stuff. He used to let me do more, but Sharon found me fixing up his electric drill with the right drill–thingy and thought Kyle let me do drilling for real. I dunno how that got into why Sharon was in the garage in the first place, but she and Laura yelled about that, on and off, for a week, and he don’t come around so much anymore.
It’s kind of boring at the mall though. Not only because all my buddies are hanging out at the big new mall, Blue Center, but because Kyle can’t leave the hot sandwich concession, so he gives me money.
“Here, Scout,” he’d say — my real name’s Brian, but ’most everybody calls me ‘Scout’ — “go have fun for a while.” I haven’t told him that if he and Laura start sucking face I’d go anyway: it’s a straight choice of go somewheres else or spit up.
The mall has kinda gone downhill since Blue Center opened up and they’ve had some trouble with gangs, so I’m only supposed to go to the arcade or the Mickey Dee’s that’s right opposite, but Laura doesn’t check so much anymore.
That’s lucky, or I think maybe she’d make me go somewhere else now. See, a couple of days ago these guys came into the arcade. I thought they were bikers because they had on all this shiny leather and metal chains and stuff, and some really neat tats I’ll tell you more about them later but it turns out they’re not, they’re punks.
They were kind of loud and pushing each other. There weren’t many other kids in the arcade anyway, and those few got scared and left, but I’d heard yelling a whole lot worse, so I just focused down on my game and let it all kind of happen around me like I used to at home.
Maybe that wasn’t so smart because next minute this big guy knocks me flying. I bounced off another machine and fell all in a heap, kind of dizzy.
Next thing I hear is someone yelling “whoa,” and “time out” and then bending over me.
I’ve gotta say in the ordinary way I would of been scared of the guy who was looking down at me right then. It’s not that he was a black guy, or big I like big guys like my Dad, and Kyle but he had all these metal things stuck in his face, and his hair was weird: bright orange spikes, all sticking up and a matching orange hankie tied around his neck.
But with the world gently going around and around the way it was, him smiling at me seemed the important thing. Though some of his teeth were shiny metal, his eyes were nice: greeney–brown and sort of sparkly and they looked good with his dark skin. He knelt down next to me.
“Hey, punkin,” he said, and I was really happy he hadn’t called me “kid” — I get enough of all that at home. “You okay?”
I said something like “uhuh.” The world was still doing a kind of teeter–totter thing.
Right then though, two other punks bashed into him and he turned around and said to quiet down, and they did, too. Listening to his growly voice talking to them I felt all sort of hot and tingly.
He turned back to me and squatted down again. “What’s your name?” he said.
“Scout,” I mumbled, and then thought how maybe this was official, so I said: “I mean, Brian.”
“Oh,” he said. “Well I’m G’rilla, that’s Grill to my buddies, and that’s you. Can you sit up?” He touched my bare arm, helping me. I was ever so glad I’d chosen my new Final Fantasy shirt, and not my usual one.
“You’ve got Cloud’s hair,” I said, looking at the big orange spikes. He looked worried.
“Did you bump your head?” he said, and moved his hand like he was going to touch my hair, only he didn’t, he put his bare arm around my back.
It should have been uncomfortable, with him being a stranger and all, and I could feel the metal lumps on this leather bracelet thing pressing into my hip, but maybe because he’d said we were already buddies, I really liked it. He smelled nice: of gasoline and guys working out, and it reminded me of weekend Kyle, and I found I’d leaned in against his lumpy leather jacket before I’d even thought. There was another way he reminded me of weekend Kyle too: his jacket was open and I could see his chest, only where Kyle’s is all smooth, Grill’s has got all nice dark hair on, like my daddy’s.
Right then, the proprietor arrived. Al’s the other sort of big: his body’s like a jelly donut, and his face is like one too, only with a fringe of brown hair and a mustache added. In the usual way, he’s a smiling kind of a guy, but right then he looked real pissed.
“I’ve told you punks before—” he began, and then he saw me, and went pale. “Shit!” he said first time I heard him swear — “Is he all right?”
I was better than “all right!” I said “uhuh,” but I was most scared maybe Grill was gonna stop holding me and go away, and suddenly that “Dad gone away” feeling all sort of rushed up close, and I was bawling like a baby, only choking and quiet, the way I used to see Dad doing it sometimes, when the yelling had been especially bad.
Grill held me close and I heard them talking over my head, and then Grill said: “Hey, Scout how about you and me go get a soda, would you like that?”
“Sure!” I said, happy he’d gotten my name right. “Only my sis says I’m only allowed in the Mickey Dee’s over there.” I pointed.
So that’s where we went. We sat upstairs in a corner booth near the restrooms and talked. It was a little weird at first: I asked Grill about all his piercings and did it hurt? He said yeah, some, and how it showed you were a tough motherfucker. I felt my face get real heated when he said the bad word, but I didn’t say. Grill stroked my cheek with the back of his finger and said did I want to see something cool?
He stuck his tongue out, and it had a silver metal thing right through the center! He curled his tongue and clinked it against one of his shiny metal teeth — for–real metal, I swear, like the guy in that Bond movie. Then he blew a raspberry and said I should blow one at him, only he squinched up his face, making his nose and eyebrow thingies wiggle and I couldn’t do it for laughing.
Grill said did I have a headache, or feel like I was gonna spit up? And when I said no, he went and got me a purple grape sno–cone and a soda.
Seemed like forever he was gone getting the stuff, and a coffee for himself, but I guess it was only an ordinary wait time. I was so happy seeing him come back up the stairs it was all I could do not to rush over and hug him.
Heck but he was dressed nice. All of a sudden my sleeveless FF comic–book teeshirt, short–shorts and sandals seemed all little–kid. I wanted a no–sleeves leather jacket with all shiny studs, shiny–dark trousers with lacing up the sides like his, and big clumpy boots with buckles and shiny–metal toecaps, too. Only I guess on me they wouldn’t look so good, until those exercises Kyle showed me started working. He had bulges all over, and especially at the front of his pants where I’m real small. I remember thinking how I didn’t know any exercises for there.
“Do you do exercises too?” I asked, when he got close enough.
“Too?” he said, smiling, and I swear, only one of his eyebrows went up, just like mister Spock! I can’t do that without I hold the other eyebrow still with a finger. “Yeah, I pump iron some. You still okay: not sick, or headache?”
“Nuh–uh.” I shook my head in the negative.
“Great.” He put the tray down and sat next to me, and I got this excited rush of all tinglyness, all over. Something inside of me was saying that something special was gonna happen, and whatever it was, it was right.
“Hey, look at me,” Grill said, and when I did, he put his hand along my jaw, moving real slow like I had to when I first met Oliver’s new puppy. Then he leaned real close, looking into my eyes like slo–mo for a movie kiss, except it wasn’t yukky like that. He was so close I could see all the short, prickly dark hairs on his face, like he was starting to grow a beard.
He said: “Mind if I touch your hair?” and I went all tingly–happy. It was only after I’d said “sure” that I recalled about those lady cops that came to school and told us all about bad touching and mean, scary men. But that all faded away with what Grill did next.
He didn’t only “touch” my hair: he stroked it, sliding his fingers right through, and gently stroking my head, all over. I near exploded with happiness.
When I came down off of that high, Grill was sitting so close that I was back inside his nice, weekend–gasoline–and tobacco smell. I could pick Grill out of a crowd blindfolded now: it’s like I got a superpower; it’s so cool!
But even if it was magic and like a spell, I had to know, so I said: “Why’re you looking at me that way?”
“Because I like you,” he said. “Worried you were maybe hurt, too, but mostly the first one. You’re cute.”
The only times ladies said about my looks, they said I’m gonna be a real heart–breaker and I know what that means. It means yelling and one of you gets to live on a oil rig.
I was glad Grill hadn’t said that, although it was the first I ever heard that wavy long brown hair hanging over no–particular–color eyes, all–over skinny and freckles was “cute.”
“Oh,” I said.
“You liked me checking you out,” he said, and smiled like he’d made a joke, “-for bruises. “Would you like some more of that?”
Would I? Only I thought real fast about being friends, so I said: “Only if I can touch you too, or it won’t be fair.” And he said yes! I said to myself to remember about Ollie though, in case Grill didn’t like dickie–touching and wouldn’t want to be friends, after.
So we went real slow and only sat side–by–side, though with cuddling, while Grill drank his coffee and I ate my sno–cone and worked on my big gulp. I usually get the “standard” size, but no way was I gonna say no to anything Grill got for me. Even if he’d gone Super–size I would of drunk it somehow.
I told Grill a whole lot about my family, and school and stuff, and he said about stuff he’d done. He was working as a night–clerk in a pharmacy right now, but some of his other jobs sounded way cool, though he said working for a band was fifty–fifty hard graft and shutting down likkered–up dickheads.
I kinda giggled at him saying “dickheads,” and when he asked why, I tried to play–act him like a giant, squishing down little dickheads I did that hand move: the one you get on report for at school or maybe it was all so I could put his hand on the top of my head, like he did before.
It worked, anyway. Grill laughed and said no way would he squish the cute ones: there was a better way to quiet ’em down. He leaned in close again, like for the looking, only this time he did kiss me.
“How was that, Scout?” he said. While he was talking I could smell the coffee from him being so close, and I felt myself going all hot and tingly again.
“Okay,” I said, and then added, kind of cheeky: “Only it don’t work for long.”
Kissing was even nicer the second time, and nicer after that, when he said to open my mouth some. It sounds gross, but it wasn’t: he tickled my tongue with his, and then we took turns poking our tongues into each other’s mouths: kind of like tag. I think it was for ever so long, only with stopping and starting, so maybe it was lots of times instead, and with cuddling.
Anyway, we ended up with me sitting on his lap, face to face, when Grill called “time,” saying I was too squirmy. I hadn’t really noticed until then that I was sitting on a big, hard lump. I said was he okay? and he laughed and said he was way better than that, only he needed a break, like at the movies.
I realized I did too. “There’s nobody else here to pinch our stuff,” I said as I got off his lap, “and it’s only empty cups anyway. So can we go together? Please?”
“Can’t wait, huh?” he said, doing that cool one–eyebrow trick again.
I guessed he was talking about that soda, and yeah, I’d need the bathroom soon, but mostly I wanted to look at his dickie. So I nodded yes.
I’d used that restroom before, so I rushed ahead to make sure I got the middle one of the three urinals. I dunno if it was being in the bathroom, but suddenly I was busting, after all. I yanked down my zipper and peed for ever.
Grill came and stood next to me. “You okay there, Scout?” he said, fumbling with his pants.
“Uhuh,” I said, coming down from tippy–toes now the need to pee wasn’t so bad.
Heck it felt good, Grill coming to stand next to me instead of choosing a stall like he could have. As I finished and shook the drops off, I went all tingly again, and my peter got really stiff, like we’d already been playing doctors or show n’ tell. I folded my hands like I was still peeing and watched him from under my eyelashes, trying not to be obvious.
At first I thought it was those tight pants that was making Grill take so long, but when I saw his dickie for the first time I plain forgot about pretending to pee. It was three times as big as mine, easy. Maybe four. Like a big bar of chocolate candy.
I stood there, stretching my eyes until it penetrated that, peeing–wise, my cover was pretty much blown, but when I looked up he was grinning.
“Like it, huh?”
My mouth was hanging open, but I managed a nod. Then, thinking that was maybe rude, I added “Yeah! It’s way cool!”
Grill smiled and nodded. “I’d say yours is hot rather than cool, but whatever: I like it.”
I glanced down at my boring, pale bare twiglet, and then back at Grill’s. I was definitely getting the better part of the deal, here. I wasn’t sure, but it seemed maybe even bigger than before. Harder, anyway. When he’d first hauled it out of his pants it was big and fat but with a downward trend. Now it was definitely aimed at the ceiling.
“How are you going to pee?” I asked, puzzled.
Grill smiled an easy smile. “Well, in fact I was gonna rub one out.”
I wanted to jump up and down, but didn’t in case it put him off. “Rubbing?” I said, hearing how my voice had gone all hopeful. “For real?”
“You like that, huh?” he said.
“Yeah, I like rubbing,” I said, then too late remembered Ollie. “But only if we can be friends after.”
Grill looked surprised. “Sure,” he said. “Of course we can.”
That was all I needed to hear. Not more than two heartbeats later I was standing close by him, and Grill had his arm around my shoulders. I wanted to measure his dick, but I thought if I used both hands maybe he’d think I was weird or I was going to hurt him or something, so I only used the one.
His dick felt really nice: big and hard in my hand but sort of silky over that. Too late I realized that we didn’t have any lube, and I didn’t want to go get some dispenser soap in case he changed his mind. So I spat into my free hand, switched over and did the same again until I had his dick all nice and slippery.
“Yeah, that’s hot,” Grill said. “You’ve uh, rubbed off other guys, right?”
“No,” I said, feeling myself coloring. “Only boys.” Only with Ollie, actually, but I was too shy to say. I meant to ask if I was doing okay, but the sight of his big dick was too interesting. It still felt really nice, too: better as it got harder and harder. There was a drop of liquid at the tip. I didn’t mean to touch it but I was rubbing the head for him and it sort of smeared. That turned out to be a good accident because the stuff was kind of gloopy, so as he made more, I used it.
“You know,” Grill said, his voice sounding sort of strained: “you know I’m gonna shoot soon?”
I looked up, away from his wonderful dick. I guess he must have seen I didn’t get what he was saying, because he continued:
“I’m gonna squirt white stuff out of my cock. It’s fine but it makes a mess, so don’t get it all over yourself, okay?” His voice went kind of deep and rough: “Oh, god, you sexy, beautiful boyyy,” he groaned.
I was looking up at him, so it was only when I felt his dick swell a bit in my hand, that I looked down again, just as Grill did this low sort of growl and it jumped and squirted something. It was so neat I bent down for a closer look, but Grill gasped and said “mind — yuh! — eyes!”
I was close enough to see properly though, and this stuff like gloopy milk shot out of the slit and splashed the urinal, then again and again as his dick jerked. I thought it would be a whole lot, like pee, but it wasn’t much, and I was scared I hadn’t done the rubbing properly for a grown–up guy, but then Grill said:
“Oh baby, you are gorgeous! Fuck!”
His dick jerked again, and I couldn’t stop myself from rubbing all along it. “So lovely and big!” I thought as squeezed slowly along it making this big, creamy gloop sort of ease out in slo–mo, all shiny like Mom’s pearls. “Cool!”
“Glad you like it.” he said. “You weren’t scared?”
“Of what? Did I really do it good? You wanna go again?”
“You’re a little horn–dog, Scout,” he said; sort of laughing under his breath, and stroked my neck, under my hair. “I’ll have to wait a while to recharge.”
“Oh. Like mana points in a game? I get it.” I watched that nice big brown sausage going down: it felt warm and slightly sticky; I hoped it wasn’t going to be long before I could rub him some more. A little more of the white creamy stuff oozed out of his dickie–slit and he wiped it off and then he ate it.
I could feel my eyes bugging out. “Ewwww! You ate your pee!”
“It’s not pee,” he said. “It’s cum: stuff guys make. You’ll make it when you’re older. I don’t usually waste it, but I guess nobody’s eating it off that china.” He waved at the urinal and waited like he’d made a joke.
“Oh, cum,” I said, proud of myself. “I know about cum. I heard Laura on her cell after a date one time, complaining about getting it all down her dress, and saying it was Kyle’s fault.” I’d figured it for a kind of hot sauce he’d spilled on her. “Isn’t it nasty? My sister says it’s gross, and she won’t eat it.”
He shrugged. “Different people like different things. Just because a girl says it’s gross, don’t make it so. You’ve got to try things out and make up your own mind.”
“Yeah?” I said, all doubtful. “You mean I should try it?”
“Well, if you like,” he said, “but I was going to show you something else. Come with me.”
He walked over to one of the stalls, but when he sat down, he kept the door open with his foot and beckoned me in. It was kind of shy–making, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to, but then he smiled all friendly and his funny spiky orange hair and shiny metal teeth made me giggle and want to cuddle some more. So I went in and stood between his spread knees, and with him sitting down and me standing up we were near the exact same height.
He moved his foot, letting the door swing shut behind me, then kissed my ear and my neck and reached around me and patted my butt. It was weird doing cuddling in a bathroom, but the stall made it small and nice, like a little room, all filled up with Grill!
“That’s better,” he said. “You ready to try that new thing now?” He patted my little dick lump, where I’d stuffed it back inside my pants. “Get your cocklet out for me, honey.”
“It’s kind of small,” I said, and he chuckled in my ear.
“Small and sweet, same as you, Scout,” he said, and I giggled, feeling my neck and ears get hot.
“Okay,” I said. “If you really want me to.” I still wasn’t sure why he liked my little twiglet, but it was nice the way he stroked my shoulders and my arms while I unbuttoned my short pants and got it out.
“Hey, what a cute little pet,” he said, and stroked along my dickie with one big dark finger. I giggled as it “woke up” and got stiff. I sneaked secret looks at his face and he really looked like he liked it. He grinned and tickled it all along the pee–tube, right from my balls up to the red tip and then back down again.
“You like that, huh?” he said, and I nodded yes, feeling all mixed up inside, like I couldn’t breathe.
I wanted to kiss him and climb on his lap and press up all close against him, but I was scared that maybe kissing him sudden like that was kind of gay, so I only put my arms around his neck. I hugged him real tight, smelling his nice tobacco, gas and guy smell and feeling his prickly face hairs against my neck.
He carried on stroking my dickie, giving me shivers and tingles until I was standing on tippy–toes.
“I can tell you’re liking that,” he said, turning his head to look at me with his eyes all sparkly and kind. “You want to try something even better?”
I was too excited to say yes out loud, but I guess I must have been pretty obvious, because he smiled and then leaned down like he was going to kiss it. I stared, really impressed with how, seen from on top, his spiky hair went up all different ways.
Wow! I didn’t really have time to think, but I guess I’d been expecting Grill to be jerking me around somehow. He wasn’t, though: I felt my dickie slide into all the warmness of his mouth, and he did something on the tip, with his tongue I guess, that felt so super nice I squeaked!
He chuckled and did it again, stroking his big hands up and down my back, from my shoulders to my butt while he kissed and sucked and did that tongue–thing on my dickie. It was so nice I went all trembly and I humped his face, a bit. He squeezed and patted my butt and made “mmm” noises when I did that, so I figured it was okay and did it more. It was fun!
It got really intense the more he sucked on my dickie, and he put his hands on my butt, balancing me so I didn’t fall. Maybe I should of said how he didn’t need to pat and squeeze my butt quite so much but I guess he was only trying to say how the face–humping I was doing was okay with him.
He unsnapped my short pants and let ’em fall down, and my undies too. I felt so naughty being bare ass, like when me ’n’ Ollie mooned the preacher’s house. Only I guess I was really pretty decent after all, what with Grill’s big warm hands covering up nine–tenths of my ass, it felt like. He was stroking and squeezing it and trailing his fingers up and down my asscrack, and a couple of times he rubbed right on my, you know: my cornhole.
Even with my dickie right inside his mouth, he could lick my balls, and I squeaked when he did that. He hummed and licked it, his lips pressed right against my tummy.
He let my dick slip back out of his mouth: it was shining with his spit and standing right up. He looked up, smiling this slow, lazy smile that gimme butterflies in my tummy, and I swear if I hadn’t been sitting on his hands my legs would have folded.
“Glad you’re liking it,” he said, and then sucked two of his own fingers right inside his mouth, pretending they were my dickie, and I giggled. “You ready for the next part? It can get really intense, so don’t be scared. Just go with the flow, okay?”
“M’kay,” I managed, trying not to fidget.
He sucked my dickie back into his mouth again, and did the tongue thing like before, only this time he started rubbing on my uhu with his wet finger. It felt weird, but he was making my dickie feel all nice so I didn’t say anything, even when he started pushing on it.
Grill sure was right about it getting intense: I started getting tingles and fidgets and humped his mouth harder and harder. I didn’t hardly notice when he first pushed too hard and his finger went right inside my ass.
I was leaning over him, feeling that stiff red hair of his rubbing my tummy, but I managed to gasp out was he okay?
He stopped licking me, and turned his head to look up. “Huh?”
“Getting your finger dirty,” I said, screwing up my face at the icky thought.
He grinned. “Oh, you mean this?” He wiggled the finger he still had inside me. “Nothing dirty about your little boypussy.”
I giggled and looked over my shoulder, but of course I couldn’t see. “You’re gonna get me a kittycat?”
“No, you got a pussy already.” He wiggled his finger again, pushing into my butt a little more. “This here cute little hole.”
“My butthole?” I still couldn’t believe he liked that.
“Yeah, but don’t you think ’boypussy’ sounds more friendly?” When he put it like that, I could see his point. Or perhaps I would have agreed to anything that got my dickie back in his warm mouth again!
“Uhuh. I like stroking pussies too,” I told him, “though I’d never want to stick my finger up a kitty’s butt.”
He chuckled and kissed my tummy. “Well there you are, then. This is the proper way to stroke boypussies, because when I do it right and you get your happy, you’ll purr like a little kittycat — you’ll see!”
He sucked my dink back into his mouth, and off we went again, with me even more excited at the thought of trying this kitty–stroking thing.
Grill was working his big finger deeper and deeper into my butt, in–and–out in a way that helped me push my dickie into his mouth.
“Mmmm,” he said, and then some more things I couldn’t hear, in that deep, rumbly tone of his that had me trying to hug him and hump him, both. Then he did something with his finger, and - wowee!
I squeaked, and he did it again. He didn’t seem to mind the way I banged my tummy against his mouth. He did it more, like a continuous kind of tickle that made me squeeze my butthole — only I guess it really was a woken up boypussy now — all inside and up my dickie, and in my tummy too. It was like I was shivering all over inside and felt real good.
I would have fallen off him, except Grill put his free hand up on my back, and you know what? I felt so good over and over I wouldn’t of hardly cared if I’d fallen off and broke my head or something.
Grill slid his finger out of my boypussy, only keeping his hand there and patting my butt sometimes. When, after a time I stopped squeaking and shaking, he let my dickie slip out of his mouth and sat up.
I couldn’t help giggling. “Your hair is all squashed out flat!” I said, and he reached up to feel it.
“Yeah, you’ve messed me up pretty good,” he said, with the widest, whitest grin I’ve ever seen. “You enjoy your happy, Scout?”
I blinked. “Yeah, it was-” I didn’t know whether to say about the dickie sucking, or the pussycat–stroking, or the cuddling and his deep rumblyness that made me go all prickly butterflies inside; it all sounded too gay. So I settled for “real cool.” I didn’t want to talk about it yet.
Luckily then I saw his nice big chocolate dick sticking up out of his fly and knew what I could do instead of talking. I was scared, remembering about Ollie; only that time I’d gone first, and sucked him and he hadn’t wanted to, after. So maybe it was okay, and I was Ollie this time. One thing I knew for sure, I wasn’t gonna call Grill a cocksucking little faggot and then hit him and call him a cry–baby.
“So is it my turn now?”
He laughed. “Does anybody say ’no’ to you when you use those big puppy–dog eyes?” he said.
“Not most–times,” I had to say, feeling the giggles all bottle up inside me and I tried to calm down. I can be a real giggling moron sometimes. It’s so gay. “Uh, Grill? Um, could you–” I gulped and rushed it out all at once. “Take your pants down? So I can see?”
“Sure,” he said, and stroked my leg, up over my bare butt to my back. “I guess I have had the best of that deal.”
It was nice, him looking at me that way: all of a sudden it felt like I was pretty, and cute and stuff; and nobody had to go away anywhere. I lifted up my Cloud tee–shirt so he could see more, and then pulled it right off.
“Wow, Scout,” he said, and stroked up my side. His big thumb brushed one of my titties, making me giggle. “You are one horny little dude.”
He stopped stroking me, but only long enough to unbuckle his pants and push ’em down, and I stared!
It wasn’t only that it was the proper first time I’d seen all of his dick, but he had a tattoo: a wide stripe across the low, paler part of his tummy, and below it shorter and shorter stripes so they made like a triangle pointing down to his dick.
I was kneeling down for a better look even as he was moving forward to sit on the edge of the pan.
His dick was like a giant–size Hershey bar with a big mushroom head and there was already a bit of the oozy stuff — ’cum,’ he’d called it — gleaming in the little crease there.
“Your dickie is just awesome,” I said.
“Glad you approve, Scout,” he said, smiling down at me. “But call it my ‘cock,’ or my ‘meat,’ huh? Dickies are what pretty boys like you have.”
“Yeah? You really want me to uh, call it that?”
Mom doesn’t hold with dirty talk. Doesn’t hold with a lot of things A.D. — that’s After Dad, to me and my sisters, though usually we mean all of The Yelling, too. The only time I tried ‘whanger’ she hit all four walls and sent me to my room, and I was only trying to tell her about my rash, and too shy to say ‘penis.’ She wasn’t too hot about ‘penis,’ in fact. Mom did come and say sorry after Laura told her it was only I’d learned the Eleventh Commandment: Thou Shalt Not Wipe Thine Ass With Poison Ivy. I should have gone to Laura first, and I always did, after that.
“Sure,” Grill said. “It’ll be good for you. Come on Scout,” he said, grinning like it was a huge joke, “tell me how you like my cock.”
“It’s a nice, big, uh, cock,” I mumbled.
“No, Scout,” he said. “Really say it: cock!” He clicked his throat to emphasize the hard “cuh” and “ock” sounds so the bathroom really echoed.
I took a deep breath. “Cock!” I said. “I like your cock!” I felt a tingle all over, and I could feel I was blushing. Grill’s dick — I mean his cock — looked bigger and harder than ever, and the shiny stuff was beginning to trickle down from the tip.
Remembering how Grill had liked the taste of his cum, I reached out and touched the stuff, and then tasted my finger. Well, it wasn’t gonna push maple syrup off my number–one taste spot, but it was okay. Kinda salty. I giggled.
“It’s salt on meat!” I said.
Grill chuckled. “What’re you talking about, Scout?”
I leaned forward and licked the salty stuff off the tip of his dick, and then looked up at him. “Like at table, when you put condiments on: salt on meat, geddit?”
“I think I’m about to,” he said, smiling and stroking my shoulder.
I licked the nice tip, and kissed it. For all I said Grill’s dick was big, now it was really hard it was tall, rather than big around. I could almost get my fingers to close around it, and though I had to open my mouth real wide, it did fit, later.
Right then though, I was kissing all of his nice velvety brown–purple mushroom. I didn’t need to ask if he liked that, I felt him shiver. He said:
“Yeah, Scout: dribble on it, and make it wet and slurpy. It’s better for the both of us.”
I didn’t bother saying yes. I wrapped both my hands around, just to feel all that nice warm, hard guy–meat and slurped all over his helmet, which was still sticking out above them. The umming sounds I heard from up above told me I was doing okay.
I sucked on the tip, not only feeling naughty, but excited that I was making Grill feel good, like he’d made me feel, before. I really liked that he knew about taking turns and wasn’t a meanie.
Grill’s big dark legs were all warm either side of me, I could feel his guy–hairs tickling my sides a little. I felt real safe and homey as I propped my elbows on the tops of his legs and got ready for the next bit; I didn’t even mind the hard restroom floor pressing on my bare knees.
His helmet was all shiny–smooth, partly with me dribbling and partly his salty stuff. I was grinning every time I thought “salt,” now. I leaned forward and felt the smooth slippery head with my lips, sliding them over that loveliness as I opened my mouth first wide and then wider.
I wasn’t sure exactly where the tip was anymore, so I felt around with my tongue. He really liked that: he like, jumped; grabbed the seat and said:
“Careful honey! Nearly had my yard of hard sticking out the back of your head there.”
I giggled and mumbled “Mm thorry,” around his hard guy–ness although I wasn’t, not very. It was a whole lot easier to think of a silly yard of hard than of a guy’s cock, as I got ready to try sucking. Remembering how good Grill had made me feel gave me all tingles around my dickie and my butt where he’d done that kitty stroking.
I pushed my lips down more, and although the head of his woody rubbed against my tongue again, he didn’t jump. I guess he was ready this time. I moved down more and more until my mouth felt full.
“Suck on it, Scout,” he said. “You’re not gonna get all that in your mouth, kid. It don’t matter about that. Think of it like a big, warm popsicle.”
Grill’s so smart! The minute he said that, it was like lights going on in my head as I recalled first “getting” the popsicle jokes in preschool: Ollie elbowing me and whispering how his one was like a weiner, and me saying if his weiner was that color it was about to fall off. We’d played “Zombie Weiners” in the yard for near two weeks, after.
It was so neat having the real thing all hard in my mouth, and it felt right as I sucked and began moving my head up and down. Ollie had been scared about “teeth” so I kept my mouth wide open, but Grill’s guy–meat was filling my mouth up so much he must have felt them kinda rubbing where he was so hard, but he didn’t say. He stroked my back and told me what a hot little cocksucker I was.
“Oh, yeah Scout! That’s a good boy.” I felt him lean over, stroking lower down my back until he was stroking my ass again.
Sucking was easy now I’d gotten a rhythm down: lower and lower until that squashy head was right to the back of my mouth and I was kissing my topmost hand, then suck as I went back up. Although he’d said about dribbling, he liked it when I swallowed and made my tongue all squirmy too.
Now I knew where to stop, I slid my hands down so I could look down his nice shiny–brown dick. I could already feel how hard he was, with my mouth, but somehow seeing his dick all lumpy and shiny–hard made it a whole lot better. His stripy pointer tat was kind of weird now I was bobbing my head up and down: it seemed to get closer and then further away, like a kind of fairground ride.
I got distracted though, when I saw how he’d only shaved above his dick: his balls were still all hairy. I snuck a hand down to stroke and feel them, and what with looking down to see them properly, I swallowed more of Grill’s guy–meat without even realizing until he said:
“Oh, yeahh, Scout — love that dick! Mmmm!” And rubbed his finger all over my butthole.
I swallowed around it, but my mouth was over–full, so I came back up and sucked the tip for a moment, kissed it and then went down again. I dunno if I got as far as last time, but I gave it the California try, anyhow, and Grill seemed to like it, and he liked it more as I did it faster.
“Oh yeah! Oh yeah!” he was gasping. He patted my shoulder. “Scout! Soon — ’m gonna cum: shoot, got it, baby?” I could hear the strain in his voice.
“’Mm!” I said, kinda pissed that he wanted my attention now, when I was busy sucking him. He was gonna shoot that nice stuff I’d been tasting: I was looking forward to it. Besides, it sounded like his squeaky–time was coming on, and I was set on getting him his happy for him like he did for me, so it wouldn’t be fair to stop now. It sure felt like he wanted to hump into my mouth, anyhow.
I focused down on sucking his nice, hot big dick, slurping it backwards and forwards — yeah! I could feel a little difference: his legs felt real tense beneath my arms, and was his dick getting bigger? “Shi–oot,” I thought. “All–RIGHT!”
Grill straightened up and managed one last, strangled “Scout!” before his dick twitched in my mouth. I’d forgotten how that stuff shot out though, and when it hit the back of my mouth I coughed and jerked back, and his cock jumped up vertical and shot white stuff out and again as I leaned in close, spattering warm over my back and my cheek, too before I got my lips back on his helmet and I tasted it properly. I sucked on his dick like a comforter until he eased me off it.
“Hey, Scout,” he said. “H–holy shit that was something!”
“Yeah?” I said, feeling the grin stretching my cheeks. “It was okay?” I already knew it was better than okay.
He smiled back, all lazy and relaxed. “Don’t gimme that,” he said. “You are one hot little cum–monkey, and you know it. Talking of which,” he said as he untied the orange hanky from around his neck, “–better get you de–cummed.”
He wiped my back and then my face, “stealing” a fingerful of cum now and then to make me giggle. I bounced on my heels and didn’t say a thing: I didn’t seem to need to.
We got dressed and tidied up, and Grill fixed his hair with a bar of soap he pulled from his pants’ pocket. “That restroom soap’s useless,” he said, indicating a soap dispenser. “It don’t dry worth shit.”
We headed back to the arcade, where a guy with a short crop and chains hanging down his leather jacket unpeeled himself from a machine, looked from Grill to me and back again and sighed.
“You losing your touch, Grill?” he said. “Me and the guys have been hanging out down the Laredo this last half hour.”
“Taking my time,” Grill said. “We don’t all chow down like the fat brigade hitting the buffet.” He smiled at me. “See you, Scout.” His finger brushed the hankie around his neck as he said, “I’ll be thinking about you.”
“Yeah, Me too. Thanks for everything,” I said, trying to be real polite like after a party.
It took me a moment to figure out what was different, and then it hit me: I wasn’t scared about him going away any more. I could feel myself smiling inside as I scoped it out. The trick to keeping guys wasn’t stopping them from going away, but making them want to come back.
Since meeting Grill, I’ve wondered about telling my three Moms what I’ve figured out, but decided not. Whatever I want to do, they say I’ve got to wait ’til I’m older, so they’ll just have to figure out about guys for themselves.