A Short Interlude

Other than to say that this is fiction, I'm not doing the disclaimer thing. I'm not in the mood. Besides, they're a waste of time. The Enemy will do whatever they want, no matter what you do or say, and it's absolutely none of my business whether or not you should be reading this. And, copyright, Jack Nonymous, 2007

If you want, you can email complaints, ataboys, or whatnot to jackbenym at fast mail period us.

     On a cold winter afternoon, a boy and I in bed. To him, it is "fooling around." To me, it is "having sex."
     With a grunt I came with enough force to make me deaf and blind for a moment, then opened my eyes in astonishment. I looked down onto my chest to see a thick rope of cum not an inch from my chin. What the heck, I thought. I couldn't remember ever having done that, not even when I was a teenager. I sure wasn't expecting it at forty-six.
     Bryce, the boy who'd been jerking me off a second before and blowing me not a half second before that, stopped spitting onto the floor and looked at me. "Jesus," he said. "A little warning next time, huh?" Bryce hated the taste of cum. Nobody being perfect, of course. He saw the cum on my chest and his eyes widened. "Damn, where'd that come from?"
     I lay basking in the afterglow, feeling the stuff cooling on my chest and stomach. "Ah...well, we haven't done it in, what, three weeks? Besides, your skills as a cocksucker grow stronger every day, grasshopper..."
     Bryce got a slightly offended look on his face. "Man, fuck you." But I opened my arms and he lay down on my chest, squishing cum all around between us. He may have hated the taste of it, but he didn't mind getting it all over. He stared into my eyes for a moment, then stretched up and kissed me on the forehead. Stared into my eyes some more, then kissed me on the nose. Bryce hesitated, not really looking at anything, sighed, closed his eyes and leaned forward again. I felt his lips brush lightly against mine, at first so lightly I could barely feel them, then a little harder. His lips parted and I felt the tip of his tongue touch me. So, a second unexpected thing. I'd tried to kiss Bryce before, only to have him turn firmly away.
     I have heard that this is not unusual in a boy, that he will allow your dick into his mouth far sooner than your tongue. I suppose it's that a boy can sense that kissing cannot be impersonal, that it means more than a blowjob.
     I opened my mouth and felt Bryce run his tongue across my front teeth. He pulled away, just for a second or two, I guess to think about it again, but then pressed into me harder than before, his tongue pushing into my mouth. I ran my hands down his back to cup his round butt and pulled his whole body hard against me. He started to flex his hips, grinding his cock into my groin. But that was a usual thing, though more usually I would blow him as well. It was the kiss that was blowing my mind.
     I'd never kissed a boy before. I'd only kissed a girl once, a friend of my sister's way back when in high school. Neither one of us got anything out of it, and we broke up soon after. So, though I thought highly of kissing, it wasn't something I planned on doing. Boys just weren't into making out, especially not the way they saw it happen in movies.
     Not that I was arguing. Bryce pushed at my teeth with his tongue and I opened my mouth a little further. He had his eyes screwed shut. I could hear him taking deep breaths that he would let out in a sigh of hot breath through his nose. Neither one of us knew what we were doing, but it felt pretty good.
     Bryce kissed me hard, ground his dick hard into me, flexing his hips faster. I cupped his butt and kissed him back. A single narrow shaft of afternoon sunlight came through the window over the bed and lay across the boy's back. My room was in darkness otherwise. The boy broke off the kiss, dug his hands into my shoulders and lifted himself up, eyes screwed shut, breathing in quick and deep, his mouth in a taut line. I felt his orgasm, hot and wet, spread across my stomach to mingle with my own. Then he collapsed onto me, panting, and I stroked his back, waiting for him to come down. The strength of his orgasms always amazed me. It wasn't just that he was young. We lay there on the bed in silence, in the near darkness, listening to the traffic noises from the interstate. A couple of squirrels were fighting in the pine tree just outside the window.
     After a while, still silent, he got up and walked out. A moment later I heard the water running in the bathroom. Bryce was always quiet after sex, almost withdrawn. I'd asked him once if he regretted it, but he said no in a way that had made the question sound stupid. But it would be a long fifteen, twenty minutes, sometimes much longer, before I could coax a smile from him. The first time we'd done anything, two years before when he was twelve, almost thirteen, I'd been frantic with worry at his reaction afterwards. It had been his idea, I kept telling myself, he'd grabbed my cock while we were wrestling, felt it harden, hadn't let go. As if that would have mattered to anyone. Sometimes, though, it would take hours for him to snap out of the funk that sex left him in; it left me wondering why he would be so eager to do it, the next time we could.
     I heard the water stop, heard him walking through the apartment, heard him open the refrigerator. I got out of the bed and stood, feeling the usual pains shoot through my lower back, then subside. Years of heavy work have left my back a wreck.
     Bryce had used a towel to clean up with, wetting it first in the sink, then left it soaking wet in the tub. I picked it up and put it in the sink, then took a long shower. Experience with him had told me when to leave him alone. I got out of the shower, pulled on my shorts, and wrapped myself in my thick old robe. It was chilly, even with the steam from the shower. I'd have to turn on the heater.
     The boy's math homework, the ostensible reason for his being there in my apartment, lay spread out and forgotten on the kitchen table. A plate of cookies and a half-empty glass of milk sat on top of his algebra book. I found him in the living room, staring out of the large bay window next to the door, down onto the wooded slope just beyond the narrow parking lot. His breath steamed onto the window, and he was still naked. A beautiful boy, I thought. Bryce had long, slightly wavy black hair that he normally wore in a ponytail, I'd had to talk him out of dreds a year before, not out of any conviction against them, but because I thought his mother expected it. His eyes were a very light brown, his cheekbones high and fine, gifts of his Cherokee grandfather. His shoulders, though narrow boy's shoulders, were wider than his hips, his back showed muscles under the skin. His butt was small but round, fit perfectly in my hands.
     "Aren't you cold?" I asked, coming up behind him. He shook his head, but when I opened the robe and pulled him back against me, he wrapped the old terrycloth around himself rather than pulling away. "What's the matter?" I asked.
     "Ah, come on. Tell me."
     He sighed. "It's mom," he said. "I think...I think she might think she knows something..."
     Ah, shit, I thought. "Has she said anything?" I said.
     "No, well, she said something about maybe I might be spending too much time over here, didn't I want to do something this weekend with Tyler and Chris, you know?"
     "Haven't you been doing things with them?"
     "Sure. All the time. But then a couple of weeks ago she tried to get my uncle, you know, Uncle Tristan, the dork? That does computers and is probably a fag?" He saw the look on my face. "Sorry...but you know what I mean? She wanted him to have a "talk" with me."
     "A talk," I said. "Right."
     "I just don't know how she could know anything."
     "Mothers tend to know a lot more about us than we think we're telling them. And you've always been really close to your mom, haven't you?"
     But that was the end of the conversation, and we went and did algebra problems for the half hour before his mother arrived. He really didn't need the help any longer, but there was no harm in doing it anyway. His mother sat in the car in the parking lot below, and blew the horn.
     After he was gone, I stood behind the closed door and leaned against it, eyes closed. My mind resisted the thought. To have someone become such a part of your life, and then to lose them.
     His mother called me that night, wanted to know how his math was coming along. "He's doing better," I said.
     "Will he be ready for that state test the end of the year?"
     "Sure. If he keeps at it. He can do it all, it's just a matter of practice."
     She was silent, the other end of the line. There was a frost, I could tell. And I could tell she wanted to ask me. But she said nothing, and finally managed to say goodbye, hang up.
     Bryce put up a wall of silence on the issue at home. His father was gone off when he was young, so it was just his mother, and occasionally one or more of his three uncles. But the family was Catholic, even if his mother rarely went to church, it was still in her veins. And there were just things one did not speak of, unless you were certain. Bryce was getting older, he was nearly fifteen, he was taller than she, his voice had broken months before. He intimidated her, even if only a little. So nothing more was said of it. Bryce and I had sex again a week later, and I managed to get him to smile only ten minutes afterwards.
     There are things one just doesn't talk about. I never asked him about the kiss. It just became a thing we did now and then. And his mother, defeated, eventually became friendly with me again.

que le vaya bien,