Date: Fri, 18 Oct 2002 15:32:58 +0000
From: Ganymede
Subject: Sixty-Nine Chapter 10

'69' by Ganymede


WARNING:

This story contains graphic descriptions of sexual
acts between a man and a MINOR boy.


As a friend recently said: "Everyone has the right to
fantasy. No one has the right to censor an imagination, or
dreams." With that in mind, know that this story is not true!
Further, it is not intended to promote illegal acts against
minors, but to demonstrate that men and boys can love each
other despite the prevalent attitudes of western society. It
is my goal to help readers appreciate that love. If the sub-
ject of man/boy love offends you, if this material is illegal
in your place of residence, or if you are under the legal age
for such material, do not read further!


By downloading this story:

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of perjury that you are not a minor or in the company of a
minor and are entitled to have access to material intended
for mature, responsible members of society capable of making
decisions about the content of documents they wish to
read...."

Any similarity to individuals, living or dead, is
entirely accidental. The sexual acts described in the story
are the result of my imagination. I have not performed these
acts, and I do not encourage others to perform them with
minors.


The story is copyrighted under the pseudonym, Ganymede.
A copy has been placed in the Nifty archives for your enjoy-
ment. The story cannot be used to derive monetary gain. The
story cannot be placed in archives that require payment for
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FINAL WARNING:

If you are under the age of 18, if this material is
illegal in your place of residence, or if man-boy relation-
ships aren't your thing, then exit now and save yourself from
a life of sin!



'69' by Ganymede


Chapter 10.

Maybe it was the donuts. Seagulls gathered, most in
flight, soaring above, sharing their raucous clamor. In
Asheville, North Carolina, food always brought the crows. To
my mind seagulls were nothing but white crows, equally
scraggly, equally bad tempered. They were certainly as
noisy.

"Okay, I expect most of you know already, but for the
few new people, the seagulls will leave as soon as the karts
get started."

He stopped. More than a dozen people laughed on cue.
Clearly, they were the repeat business. The rest of us, maybe
another six people, were first timers. Ty and I were at the
rear since we were the last ones to arrive. It was 9.10 a.m.
and Ty and I were like two strangers since we had arrived ten
minutes into the introduction and welcome session.I hadn't
planned to arrive last. We were late getting out of bed, and
it took some time to find a place for breakfast. There were
still a few donuts left on the front table, eyed hungrily by
both me and the sea gulls. There were some large urns of cof-
fee, along with various plastic cups and spoons. After two
hurried cups of coffee, I still needed another one. Without
coffee, I tuned out. The speaker droned on regardless.

I assumed he was Pete Shaw, owner of Pete Shaw's Kart
Racing School. Whoever he was, he looked and sounded as if he
knew what driving was about. Beyond him, beyond the long sea
grass, the Pacific Ocean was breaking with foam and thunder
on a long expanse of sand. I made a mental note to bring my
swimming shorts the next day. Ty had the advantage because he
was wearing a pair of the swim shorts I had bought for him in
Florida. He was sneaking quick glances at the surf, obvi-
ously torn between the two great loves of his life, surfing
and karting.

"What you're looking at is a sprint kart. It's got a 17
horsepower two-stroke 100-cc Yamaha engine with a chain
driving the rear axle. Seventeen horses might not sound like
a lot of power to you guys, but the kart weighs all of a 150
pounds. With a power to weight ratio like that, it has a top
speed of 80 m.p.h. You'll get to sixty in a little over six
seconds."

Shaw looked around the crowd, making sure that we were
all paying attention. Unfortunately, I chose that moment to
yawn. He glanced away quickly as I tried to use my hand to
cover my mouth. Ty giggled and poked me in the ribs with his
elbow.

"Now, this may be our basic kart for rookies, but with
it, driving is distilled to a primal level. It doesn't have a
suspension to speak of, but you can still pull 1.3 g on the
corners. That's better than any car out in the parking lot,
including those nice Porsches some of you are driving. The
fact is you can learn everything you need to learn to win
races sitting in a sprint kart. It doesn't have a gearbox so
you won't have to worry about changing gear. The clutch is a
centrifugal type, coming in at about 9,000 rpm. Maximum revs
are around 14,000, so you have to drive with the throttle in
that range if you want power going to the wheels. Now, for a
few of you,-"

He paused, again looking around the group of people
until he made eye-contact with three of us. I was not sure
whether I was supposed to acknowledge him so I smiled
slightly and tried to look wide awake. It was difficult in
the morning sun. He was a few years younger than I was, or
maybe he just looked younger. He was also in better shape,
rather like Gordon Jeffries in that respect, but I consoled
myself that he probably didn't have to contend with eating
out for most of the year.

"Where was I? Okay. For those of you who aren't rookies
or who have finished the intermediate training, you're going
to be driving shifter karts. The engines are 125 cc
motocross, running through sequential six-speed boxes. They
go like stink and they have four-wheel disk brakes to stop
them, but the lessons you'll learn on them are the same as
the sprint karts. I'll tell you professional drivers what
I've told every group for the last year. If you can beat 25
seconds a lap on your first try, I'll buy everyone here a
beer."

I smiled at the challenge. His next glance was to me.
Both of us knew that with a single glance he had just person-
alized the bet.

"I figure ah'm the one gettin' a shifter," Ty joked
under his breath.

I grinned down at him and dropped my hand on his shoul-
der. It felt good resting it there, like it belonged. Without
further ado, Ty pressed back against me, resting his head
lightly on my chest. Seeing that his head had spent most of
the night on my chest, my arm and shoulder were aching when I
woke up. Now, by comparison it felt entirely comfortable to
have him against me. With his head so close I could smell the
scent of the shampoo we had used when we finally got out of
bed and showered hurriedly together. It was one of those
midget-sized complimentary combination shampoo-conditioner
bottles that you find in hotel rooms, heavy on odor and light
on hair treatment. At least he smelled clean and fresh. We
had both needed a shower, even a hasty one, since it had been
almost two days since I had washed, and at least that long
for Ty. With his hair brushed and wearing his new clothes he
could have passed for some rich kid from Hollywood or wher-
ever it was in L.A. that celebrities lived. He was that good
looking. Indeed, I had been calling him `Hollywood' on and
off since we left the motel. He pretended to be annoyed, at
least I hoped he was pretending. God, he was handsome.

With the sun warming my back, I tried again to identify
the scent, not paying a lot of attention as Shaw reviewed the
general layout of the third-of-a-mile track, the rules,
driving etiquette, and even the different flags. The smell
was something supposedly natural, not flowers or fruit, more
like a meadow after it had been mowed. It was impossible to
keep a straight face as Ty's firm little butt squirmed
against me, his bony hip pressing deliberately into my
groin. He seemed to delight in getting me excited and then
rebuffing me. He had to feel my penis beginning to harden. He
pressed back just a little bit harder. It felt good.

It had been the same in the shower. Then, Ty had giggled
non-stop while I shampooed his hair. His humor was derived
entirely from the fact that he was using what was left of the
shampoo to tantalize my groin with his slippery soapy fin-
gers, intermingling disparaging comments on the size of my
erection with suggestions that I would have to have a cold
shower if I didn't behave myself. I dozed contentedly in the
morning sun, getting harder and harder as Ty ground his butt
against me. I was still sleepy after the long trip across the
country, dreaming of the often promised but still undeliv-
ered `blow job' which was supposed to be my `reward' for tak-
ing him with me. It didn't matter that he had jokingly
recanted his offer five, or was it six times. It was one
promise that I intended to take up. However, ten hours in bed
together had not been enough, not when we were both too tired
to move. Still, I had that to look forward to, hopefully when
we were finished for the day.

"Hey, Terry, old man!" Ty exclaimed as he yanked at my
hand. "Wake up! Ya still dreamin' of last night or what?"

"As fer as I remember, Ace, nuthin' happened last
night," I reminded him under my breath.

Nothing had happened. We were both exhausted after the
drive to Tallahassee, waiting for nearly two hours to board
the plane, and then the long flight across the country with
two stops and one plane change on the way. Ty had been able
to snooze during the flight, because he had the ability to
sleep anywhere, anytime, but I hated flying so much that I
stayed awake the entire time and listened to the sounds of
the plane. From the sounds of a race car you could usually
tell if there was going to be a mechanical problem. I figured
it was probably the same with a plane.

Ty shrugged and smirked. "Ya sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure, Ace-boy. I was so tired the most I
could'a done was stick ma finger up yer cute little butt
`gain." I pretended to sniff the finger tip, not certain if
it was the one I had used, wrinkling my nose as if it smelled
bad.

"Very funny. `ceptin' ya fell asleep while we was
eatin' pizza. I had to clean up yer mess `n all. Ya snored so
loud ya kept me `wake fer hours."

"So, it was a long day, Kincaid. Actually, I'm plannin'
on takin' care of ya, t'night," I laughed.

He smirked. "Just as long as you follow the rules."

"And what rules might they be, Hollywood?" I asked with
feigned ignorance.

He rolled his eyes, not replying.

"Ya got some new rule about me not suckin' yer dick?" I
asked, keeping my voice low.

He giggled and shook his head. "Ya can do that whenever
ya want to. It's cool."

"So you liked getting yer weenie licked?"

"I liked it okay. I'm talkin' `bout hiney rules."

"Yer hiney rules as fer as ah'm concerned. Anyway, I
thought ya liked ma finger in yer hiney," I laughed. Sud-
denly, I noticed that everyone else was leaving. "Hey, what
the fuck Where's everyone goin' Ace?"

"That's what I'm tryin' to tell ya. We're s'posed to
suit up," Ty said, jerking my hand again hard enough to
injure my elbow joint.

"Oh! What the fuck. He don't waste time, does he?"

We followed the others back into the low flat-roofed
building we had passed through when we had arrived. The
receptionist was maybe-sixteen and she had her hands full as
she handed out plastic bags containing brightly colored
flame-proof suits and checked off names. As the last people
in line, we had to wait for nearly five minutes. My antennae
bristled again when she gave me yet another disparaging
look. She had not been impressed when we arrived ten minutes
late. Her manner left a lot to be desired. For one thing, she
chewed gum, a habit I detested. Perhaps she knew how to type,
or use a computer or whatever it was that receptionists did
when they weren't `recepting'.

"'xtra large might fit you," she grumbled to me and
handed me a bag with a red and black suit inside. "Hm,-" she
pondered, assessing Ty's size. "Skinny little guy, ain't he?
There ain't no way a small men's fittin' him. Anyway, ain't
he too young to be drivin'?"

I gave her a sour look that was only matched by Ty's
disagreeable expression.

"It's okay. I'll take care of them, Allie," a voice said
from behind me.

I turned around to greet Shaw. We shook. He had a strong
grip.

"Terry Atkins, right? The infamous sixty-nine, last
weekend's hero of Nascar? I'm not mistaking you for someone
else am I?" he asked as he extended his hand to shake mine.

"Yeah, that's me I reckon. It's a real pleasure to meet
you, Mr. Shaw."

"That's Pete from now on, Terry. We're on a first name
basis around here. That was quite a race last weekend. And
this handsome young man must be Ty Atkins?" he continued,
looking past me at Ty. He returned to me. "When I spoke to
your pit boss, he said you were bringing your son along."

I swallowed, more like gulped as Shaw shook Ty's hand.
My son? It did have a nice ring to it. Still, for a few sec-
onds I was confused. It was unlike Bobbie to mislead someone,
not unless he had a good reason. Then, in a flash I realized
that he had a very good reason. Only a parent or a legal
guardian could sign the all-important waiver forms for Ty to
be on a race track. The hand-scrawled paper that Ty's grand-
mother had given me was hardly enough to qualify me as a
friend let alone convince Shaw that I was his legal guardian.
I smiled at Ty, hoping that he would play along.

"Usually we don't let kids on the track until they're in
their teens," Pete added. "You know, the liability thing and
all. Insurance is getting very hard to get even for adults."

"I'll bet you a beer that he's as good a driver as any
of them," I said with a deliberate gesture to the few men and
teenagers who were going into the change room.

Shaw nodded, although his expression implied he hay yet
to be convinced. "Okay. I'll put him in the first-time group
and see what he can do. If he can handle a kart then he can
drive while you're here. Meanwhile, you'd better sign the
forms for him or my lawyer won't sleep for a week."

"I don't have a suit anywhere close to his size, Mr.
Shaw," Allie said pointedly, as if that alone should be
enough to keep Ty off the track. Apparently, the use of first
names extended only to customers and not to employees. She
handed me the waiver and a pen with a chewed ragged end.

"Yes, that's true," Shaw agreed. "But I think we can
work something out, Allie. I'm thinking he can use one of the
small women's suits until tomorrow. I'll bring in one of my
kid's that ought to be close to his size. It'll be a bit
loose on him, but it's the best we can do at short notice,"
he added with a querying look at me.

Unless it was pink, as far as I knew there were no dif-
ferences between men's and women's suits except the small
size was a lot smaller for the women's ones.

"That'll work, won't it Ace?"

Ty shrugged with the unwillingness of a preteen boy who
had been asked to wear a woman's two-piece bikini bathing
suit on a crowded beach. However, he accepted the package he
was handed. At least what was inside wasn't pink. Instead, it
was pale blue and silver. I almost laughed but I caught Ty's
disapproval. I followed him into the change room as the first
three of the other attendees emerged, They were loud-
mouthed, acting as if they were going to drive a Nascar race.

I chose a corner where there were still two lockers with
the doors open.

"This'll do, Ace," I muttered, dropping the bag on the
seat. "You better leave yer shorts on under the suit," I
added.

Ty nodded, knowing as I did that he was bare beneath his
swim shorts. I surveyed the other people who were climbing
into their suits. Most of them were between twenty and forty
years old. I knew the type, and it was the reason why I was
reluctant to go to the kart-driving school in the first
place. Shaw's school was supposed to be a Mecca for perfor-
mance driving. It was expensive, so expensive that it
attracted overpaid Silicon Valley technocrats or executive
types from LA who had the money to buy the Porsche 911 Turbos
that littered the parking lot. It was highly unlikely that
any of their owners knew how to drive their cars the way that
they were designed to be driven.

There was one other man who had brought his son along.
Going by Shaw's `have to be a teenager' standard, he was
barely there. He looked like he was no older than twelve. He
was good looking and if Ty was not standing beside me taking
off his `wife-beater' shirt, I would have been tempted to do
more than look. Although, as I felt that all-too-familiar
thrill of the voyeur, anything that I might have wanted to do
with him with his father only a few feet away was entirely a
matter of conjecture. Needless to say I still looked at him
as surreptitiously as I could, watching with what I hoped was
detachment as the youth stripped down to his boldly colored
boxers. He had a California tan that was almost as dark as
Ty's Florida tan. He was lanky, with long thin arms and legs
that looked as if his muscles, while not nonexistent, cer-
tainly had not seen much exercise. Like most kids his age, he
probably spent long hours on the computer, or Gameboy, or
whatever it was that provided his entertainment. By con-
trast, Ty was lithe with well-defined muscles that were sur-
prisingly strong. I had found out just how strong Ty was when
we wrestled.

"Ya think he's hot, don't ya?" Ty whispered furtively.

"Who?"

"Him. That skinny kid over there."

"He ain't so skinny."

"Yeah, right. That's like sayin' Bobbie ain't fat.
Duh!"

"He's not that bad."

"Yeah. He's got a bod like a broom stick. Ya like sticks
more `n this?"

I glanced at Ty. He was doing a slow strip tease with
his `wife beater' armless shirt. It dropped to the bench
behind him. He pointed to his chest, midway between his nip-
ples.

"I'm puttin' one `a them tattoos right here when we git
back to the room," he said boldly, although his voice was low
enough that no one but me could hear.

"Why there?"

"So ya got somethin' to stare at when I take ma shirt
off." He sounded jealous.

"Cute. Somethin' amusin' `sides yer three inch dick?" I
teased.

"Four!"

"In yer dreams, Ace."

I glanced around to make certain that we were not over-
heard. Other than the father-son duo, we were now alone in
the change room. Having Ty's full attention, I held up my
first finger.

"That's four inches, Ace." Then, I held up my thumb.
"And that's you, boy. Ya dick ain't no bigger that's fer
sure. See, I'm talkin' three inches, not four."

Ty grinned and promptly sat down on the bench to remove
his shoes. Once his shoes were off, he suddenly looked up,
crudely craning his neck with the apparent objective of try-
ing to see up my briefs.

"Yeah, I can see what four inches looks like," he cack-
led gleefully. "It's fat enough, but it's short like yer
thumb."

I playfully pushed his head away, producing a loud guf-
faw.

"Excuse me."

I turned away at the interruption, looking over my
shoulder.

"I'm sorry to interrupt. I thought I overheard Pete say
you're Terry Atkins. You are, aren't you?"

The man started to walk towards us. I nodded. I was not
at all sure that I was always going to enjoy my newly
acquired celebrity status. I found myself alternating
between sitting down on the bench next to Ty trying to get my
feet into the legs of my suit, or keep standing there in my
briefs. I chose the former, but mostly because I was hoping
he would go back and let me get dressed in peace. Plus, with
Ty fooling around the way he was, there was no certainty that
my penis would remain limp for much longer.

"I'm Pierce. Pierce Heekin."

He announced his name as if I was expected to recognize
him. I continued working on getting my feet through the open-
ings in the suit. For a second or two I was aware of Heekin
looking at Ty. It was enough to make me glance to the side.
Ty already had his feet through his suit and was pulling it
up his legs. Damned if there wasn't a nice little bulge in
his shorts. He was becoming erect, if it wasn't already
there. He seemed to have erections every hour, on the hour.
Then, Ty stood up, effortlessly pulling the top part of the
suit over his arms. He was dressed already. He made it look
easy. With his back to the approaching Pierce Heekin, he gave
me a knowing smirk. My eyes darted downwards again. Even with
the loose-fitting suit, there was still a bulge, a bulge that
was bigger, longer and more pronounced than the boy-bulge
that should have been there. He was letting me know that he
was aroused, and to prove the point, his penis flexed on com-
mand. It was enough to disturb the shiny synthetic cloth.

Still smirking, he slowly drew the zipper up that
closed the front of his suit and turned around. The lump was
so obvious that Heekin had to have noticed as well. He was
only a few feet away when I turned back to him.

"I'm at American Foods, Cereals Division. I'm the V.P.
for Marketing."

He said the last word as if I was supposed to bow down
and kiss his feet, something I would do only for Ty and then
he would have to earn it. From my experience, which was
mostly from trying to get sponsorship, saying that you were
in marketing was synonymous with saying you were an ass-
hole.

"I've created some of our best programs over the years.
A couple really got our cereal line moving. You probably saw
the bear ones?"

"Don't think so."

"Big brown bear in pajamas? He was called Woody?"

I returned what Ty called my `I'm dumber than I look'
expression. It was difficult not too laugh. I heard Ty chok-
ing beside me.

"Don't think so."

"You must have seen the ads. The bear chases down camp-
ers to get their cereal?" he added seriously.

"Based on real life huh?"

Heekin laughed loudly. "No! At least I don't think so.
We even had a line of bear toys for the kids if they sent in
twenty box labels."

"That's nice," I replied.

Humor was out of place. I wanted him to leave. However,
by then it was too late to stop him. He was close enough for
me to shake his hand.

"Goddamn suit!" I grouched. "S'posed to be an extra
large, but I swear it's way too small."

"Yes, I know the feeling. Mine's tight too," Heekin
agreed. He was persistent.

"I'll be sweatin' like a pig before lunch," I grouched.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Atkins. Do you mind if
I call you Terry? We supposed to go by first names. I'm
Pierce, by the way," he added as if I had forgotten that he
already told me his name/

"yeah, sure, whatever. Pierce, huh." I tried it on for
size. It was like calling someone `puncture' or `stab'.

"So,-"

Pierce took a deep breath and let it out over what
seemed to be the next minute. Having crossed the change room
to introduce himself, he was reluctant to go back. His son
had a bored, resigned expression, the kind of expression
that kids have when they feel they are being embarrassed and
know they can't do anything to stop it from occurring. Ty had
given me the same expression when I suggested buying him a
copy of `Playboy' for the plane trip. That I did it when we
were waiting at the counter of the airport bookstore was
probably the reason why he was embarassed.

I smiled at the boy across the room with what I hoped
was understanding. It had to be difficult to have a father
who was an ass-hole.

Heekin turned around and beckoned to his son to come
over. "Your boy's name is Tyler right?"

"Uh,- well, yeah, but everyone calls him Ty."

"Hi Ty." Heekin stuck his hand out. Ty gave the obliga-
tory shake. "My nephew's name is Brandon by the way." Heekin
gestured across the room. "He's shy. He's been racing karts
for more than a year now. It's our third time here so I guess
we're getting to be old hands. Last time he got a 33.5 lap.
Not too bad for a kid who's only just turned twelve. The best
I could do was 31 seconds and I've been driving for thirty
years."

"Hi Brandon," I called out.

He was a friendly looking boy. Handsome, but not cute
like Ty. Dirty blond hair cut in a fashionable style, proba-
bly expensive. He was wearing a red and black suit like mine.
It was emblazoned with `Valvoline' and `Goodyear', free
advertising to companies who did not sponsor him. I hadn't
noticed any advertising on mine. More than likely, he had
brought his own suit. Brandon replied with a vague wave. he
did not look shy, merely self-conscious.

"So,-." Heekin did the inhale-exhale thing again. "I
guess we better get out to the track before all the fast
karts are taken. You'll be driving one of the shifter karts,
I expect Terry," he continued. "I'm pretty certain I saw Pete
give you the nod."

"Na. That'll be Ty's kart," I joked. "Personally, I'm
findin' me the slowest one out there and keepin' one foot on
the brake. Karts scare the crap outta me."

Heekin looked at me as if I was out of my mind. Then,
realizing I was joking, suddenly smiled. "he might be okay at
that. He looks like he has the reflexes of a rabbit!"

"Yeah, somethin' like that. A jack rabbit, or some-
thin', cause he's quick all right. Me, I need to take life
slow and steady. Sittin' with ma knees stuck in ma nose and
ma butt three inches offa the blacktop doin' over seventy
sure ain't ma idea of fun. `Course, tha kid ain't got a
lick'a sense so he'll love it."

Heekin laughed. He was aggressive and loud-mouthed, but
it was hard not to like a man who laughed like that, a laugh
that came out like a roar from deep in his belly. However,
what he said next took me by surprise. It also made me angry.
It was as much as how he said it as what he said.

"You know, I hope you don't mind me saying this, but
he's one good looking boy, your son. He could be making good
money doing commercials. If not even get into acting," he
added as an aside. "He's got what it takes. If he was my kid
I'd have him modeling real fast."

"Thanks," I muttered. "Maybe I'll get him an agent."

I was annoyed by his conceited presumptuous attitude.
Big words for me, but who was he to say things like that. It
was typical of people who worked in marketing. They were
always arrogant. It was as if they alone ran the business
world and everyone else was there to take orders from them.

"No really, Terry. Let me tell you, your boy would be
great at it. I know what I'm talking about. It's coming from
personal experience, okay? I've spent the last couple of
days reviewing models for our new cereal program. We're
looking to spend fifty million this year alone on network
television, and its for the all-American boy series."

"No more bears in the woods, huh? That's interesting."
My sarcasm went unnoticed.

"Actually we're doing a national campaign both on TV
and in magazines, as well as on the cereal boxes of course.
The boy we're looking for has to be charming to look at, but
not girlish. You know how some boys look like that? Too
pretty to grow up to be a real man. Our boy also has to have
a face with character. We're looking for a special kid, the
kind of boy who'd be eating American cereals while he lives
an active life. A kid who's constantly on the go, not afraid
of getting into trouble. A risk taker type, because that's
what people admire nowadays."

"That's my Ty. A real bundle of energy," I joked.

He regarded me with interest. He probably thought I was
serious. "I must say, I've looked at a hundred boys from a
dozen agencies and none of them have your boy's looks. Those
blue eyes of his are something else. Even the hair is per-
fect. He's a natural. If you're interested I could have my
secretary set up an appointment for you?" He sounded hope-
ful.

"Thanks but no thanks. See, it sucks big time, but me
and Ty travel so much, Pierce. Ya know how it is. Nascar's a
full time job fer both of us. I keep him real busy helpin'
out."

Only when I finished speaking did I glance at Ty. It
wasn't that he disagreed with what I said. Over the last 24
hours I had learned enough about him to know that he lived
for Nascar. The last thing on his mind was a career in model-
ing or doing cereal commercials. If ever there was a boy who
was born to race cars, it was Ty Kincaid. Every time I looked
at him I saw Gordon Jeffies. Jeffries had been one year
older, all of eleven years old, when I first saw him driving
a three horsepower quarter-midget in the National Champion-
ships, but he had been born to race, and win. That he was
handsome to a fault only made my infatuation worse. There was
high octane gas was in Ty's blood as well. Yet, as I looked
at him, as I remembered the run-down trailer that he called
home, I wondered if I was acting in my best interest instead
of his.

"Maybe I'll give it some thought, Mr. Heekin. Pierce, I
mean," I muttered.

"Please do, Terry. He's ideal for our all-American boy.
Perhaps we can talk about it another time?" Heekin sug-
gested. He sounded increasingly hopeful. He was used to get-
ting his way.

Ty grimaced, making a face that showed what he thought
of the idea of doing commercials. I was glad that he chose
not to voice his feelings on the subject. Then, suddenly his
eyes lit up.

"Ya know what ya oughta be doin' is sponsorin' a car,
Mister Heekin." It was impossible to miss the nervous
excitement in his voice.

"Pardon?" Heekin replied absently. "I'm sorry. What did
you say, Ty?"

"Mr. Heekin, I said you should sponsor a car." His dic-
tion was matched only by his politeness. I almost laughed. It
was a different Ty to the one I was used to.

"A car?"

"Uh huh. Like as in Nas-car." He nodded eagerly.

"Well, that not something that we do at American, you
see Ty. I'm sure it's a good idea, but all of our marketing
is channeled to media that reaches a high proportion of our
customer base. We have to get value for our marketing dol-
lars."

"Millions of people watch Nascar every weekend, Mr.
Heekin," Ty said authoritatively. I almost laughed again.

"Maybe I'll give it some thought," Heekin said as he
smiled at me.

Ty grinned. "Please do, Mr. Heekin. Perhaps we can talk
about it another time." At least, he sounded more sincere
than Heekin had sounded.

Heekin laughed again. "That's some boy you've got there
Terry."

"Yeah, he's a real handful at times. Ain't that right,-
Ace? Yer a handful, ain't ya?"

Ty growled menacingly as Heekin turned away. His atti-
tude revealed that he was very aware that I was unimpressed.
He sauntered away, heading back to his side of the change
room. I watched him go over to where his nephew was waiting
for him.

"Nice guy," I said under my breath.

Ty gave me a `what you really mean is he's an ass-hole'
look. I smiled and went back to getting dressed. Ty made a
feeble effort to fold our clothes before shoving them into
the lockers. Like me, he was not one for orderliness. His
suitcase was proof of that.

"Yer pissed at me ain't ya?" Ty asked after a while.

"Huh?"

"'cause I asked him `bout sponsorin' us?"

"Nope."

"Yeah ya are."

"Nope."

"It was a real good idea," Ty said defensively. "He just
don't get what Nascar means to people. Dumb ass-hole!" He
looked around to see if heekin overheard him. Not that either
of us cared one way or the other.

"Sure it was." I breathed out. "Ty, see, the companies
who sponsor cars,- well it's big business fer `em. The mini-
mum is a million bucks a year, just ta get a decal on a car.
Most of `em pay five to ten times that to get a name driver
like Jeffries. It's all set up in company boardrooms. You're
talking lawyers and accountants. It all costs big bucks. It
ain't in ma league."

"So?"

"So, yer wastin' yer time with him. We'll get a sponsor
sooner or later. Don't worry yerself `bout it."

"Better be sooner than later. `ccordin' to Bobbie, ya
ain't got tha money ta finish the season out."

I scowled, making yet another mental note to tell Bob-
bie to keep his mouth closed about the finances. It wasn't
that I minded Ty knowing that I was running a shoestring
operation, or perhaps it was. For some reason I wanted him to
think I was successful.

"It's true, ain't it Terry? Yer almost broke?"

"Yeah, it's true," I admitted sullenly. "We're always
stretchin' tha money, Ace, but we always make out okay."

Ty frowned. "Ya cain't win unless ya got the money to
fit the car out with tha best, Terry," he lectured.

"Not even with balls?" I teased.

"Havin' balls is important, but yer balls ain't all
that big, Terry."



We went outside, following Heekin and his lanky nephew
across to the pits. It was a fenced area where the rest of
the karts were lined up. Shaw had a list that he scanned
every so often, making assignments to four different groups.
As expected, I went to the advanced group and Ty went to the
beginners group. Everyone in his group towered above him.
Even Heekin's nephew was a full head taller. Puberty made all
the difference in boys at that age.

"Take it easy out there everyone," Shaw said in a loud
voice, reprising his earlier advice. "The goal is not to get
the best possible time on your first lap. You're going out
there to learn the track and the kart. Even those of who you
have been here before ought to be taking it easy for the
first few laps. It's not a race. There'll be some changes,
things you've forgotten. Set the corners up properly. Go
easy on the accelerator. We'll start off with the beginners.
And remember, you're not racing."

Ty turned and grinned at me. He was ready to get in a
kart and go. Finally, he was going to show me what he could
do. I winked at him and held up my thumb. To anyone else it
was a sign of good luck. It was that, but it was also an
indication of size. Ty shook his head, smirking as he lowered
himself into his kart. Then, as Shaw's assistants strapped
him in and tightened the harness he held up his right hand
with four fingers extended and his thumb bent in to his palm.
I shook my head and grinned. A few seconds later the engine
started with a roar, settling down to a throaty gurgle as it
idled. Shaw gave the signal and Ty floored the accelerator.
Both the car and Ty were light enough that 17 horsepower
could spin the wheels. He left the pits with a loud squeal.

His first lap was a learning experience for both of us.
For me, watching Ty on the track by himself for the first
time was more unsettling than running at more than two hun-
dred miles per hour a few feet away from a car driven by a
novice. My nervousness persisted despite the fact that Ty
evidently had a considerable amount of control over his
vehicle. He started out badly, slewing sideways, and then he
overcorrected. The little sprint kart leapt away as soon as
the tires got traction. It seemed that the slightest move-
ment of the steering wheel could cause the car to twitch
erratically. Each time, he tended to overcorrect. Once, per-
haps twice, the car almost spun out, but each time Ty managed
to get it back on line.

There was a digital clock ticking off the seconds once
he passed the start line. The numbers seemed to pass very
quickly. He was on the back straight that ran parallel to the
beach when the clock entered the twenties. Twenty five by the
top corner. He came in too fast and applied the brakes too
hard. I smiled. Even from where I was standing, I heard the
banshee wail of the little engine as it peaked in a vain
attempt to make up for lost time. He swept around the next
corner with more control than any of the preceding corners,
and then over-corrected at the next bend when he applied too
much power again.

37 seconds after passing the start line, he crossed it
again. I breathed out in relief, wondering how I could manage
to watch him do it again and again over the next few days. Or
worse, on a race track. I wondered whether my heart would be
able to take the stress. Perhaps that was why my mother had
never come to the race track?

On the second lap he managed to reduce the time by
almost two seconds. The third lap brought his time down to 34
seconds. Not bad for a rookie, I thought.

"Not bad for a kid on his first time out. Not bad at
all," Heekin said remotely.

How long had he been standing beside me?

"Weight's important," I said absently, attentive as Ty
negotiated his way past the second kart that had just entered
onto the track. "Every pound counts, but in karts it makes
the difference between winners and losers. Ty's lucky if he
weighs seventy-five fully dressed."

"So Brandon keeps telling me. He's been after me to get
him a new shell. Carbon fiber or some such thing. It's the
way to go apparently, but it costs a fortune to get one
made."

It seemed that Bobbie knew a lot more about karts than I
gave him credit for. He had been insistent on fitting a car-
bon fiber shell to Ty's kart as well. I nodded, watching with
stubborn relief as Ty brought the kart back into the pits and
killed the engine. He unsnapped the harness buckles and got
out before Shaw's assistants came over to help. He bounded
across to me.

"High five me, Ace!" I said enthusiastically. "That was
so-o-o-o cool, Ty-babe."

He scowled at being called `Ty-babe', especially in
front of other people, but he slapped my hand and grinned at
the same time. "Thirty-four ain't too bad fer ma first time."

"Thirty-four was great, dude," I said, cutting him off.

I would have said more, but Brandon was standing next to
his uncle. According to Heekin, Brandon's best time after
two sessions was 33.5. Another lap or two and Ty would in all
likelihood have beaten his best time. There was no point in
rubbing it in.

"You were using the throttle too hard," Brandon said
expertly. "And you were on the brakes too much. You're sup-
posed to go easy until you get used to the kart."

Ty glanced at the other boy, summing him up.

"I was goin' easy. Ya race karts?" he asked offhand-
edly.

"I won the junior division at Long beach last month,"
the other boy answered.

"Ain't never heard of it," Ty scoffed.

Brandon shrugged. He looked past the younger boy dis-
missing him as insignificant, a bug to be stepped on. He had
something of his uncle's demeanor. I hoped it was not conta-
gious.

"It's the big race around here. I'll be racing at Santa
Barbara next week. And San Diego too, if I can get Pierce to
take me down there."

"Cool! Maybe ya should get outta the pits `n practice
some," Ty said with barely constrained sarcasm.

Brandon shrugged again and swaggered off to the kart
that was waiting for him. He was noticeably taller than Ty,
but the assistants still had to adjust the harness and seat
position. Ty unfastened his helmet, passed it to me and then
wiped his fingers over his sweaty forehead before pushing
them through his damp hair.

"Man, ah'm sweatin' like you do, Terry."

"Hard work huh?"

"Yeah. Harder than ya think. It like goes where ya point
it, and then it's all over the fuckin' place."

Heekin snorted. I wasn't sure if he was laughing or not.
It didn't sound as if he was amused. Some people hated to
hear kids swear. Me? I was used to it from Ty. It was part of
who he was. You either had to accept that he used foul lan-
guage or go where you couldn't hear him.

"Well, Brandon was right, babe," I said. "Ya was hit-
ting the pedals way too hard, Ty. Goin' fast don't mean goin'
stupid. Drive smooth `n yer gonna pick up even more time."

"Yeah, well wait till ya get out there, old man. It
ain't easy like ya think," Ty remonstrated. He was sulking.

"Loosen up. Ya did just fine, Ace," I explained. "Yer
aimin' for smooth but fast. Drivin' a car too hard just
breaks it apart."

"Are you going to get that 25 the first time so we can
all have a beer on Shaw, Terry?" Heekin asked cynically.

I shrugged. Ty deliberately glanced down to my crotch.
It was as suggestive a look as I had ever received.

"Ya get that 25, Terry, and I'll be drinkin' some `a
that beer," he murmured.

"You're up next, Terry," Shaw called out. "Just as soon
as the sprints are off the track. You're in number 15 if you
want to go ahead and get set up."

Ty and I ambled across to where the shifter karts were
lined up. Number 15 was the first one. The tires were soft
slicks, ideal for a dry hot track. Disk brakes were on all
four wheels, so it would stop when and where it was supposed
to. I handed Ty's helmet back to him and eased down into the
cramped seat. There was not a lot of room. The steering wheel
seemed like it was too high, right in my face. The pedals
were too close so my knees had to stick out. I would be driv-
ing Italian style but without the straight-arm position. The
engine fired on the first attempt. I played with the throttle
trying to gauge its sensitivity while I was being buckled up.

"You got it, Terry. Take her out when you're ready,"
Shaw shouted in my ear.

I let the engine speed build up slowly. Not that there
was a problem with it, but because Bobbie had trained me
never to over stress the engine unnecessarily. With my
excess weight and the judicious application of accelerator
the kart moved out of the pits without wheel spin. The tires
on the car I usually drove were expensive and had to be
treated with respect. I passed the start line at a speed
about fifty percent of what should have been the case. I went
through my routine, the plan of attack that I followed the
first time I was on a track, or any track that I was not used
to. As usual, I talked my way through the course. Sometimes
it was to help me remember. More often than not, my running
commentary on the two-way radio kept Bobbie amused.

"Concentrate, you idiot Atkins. Get the feel of the
car. Remember it so you know what to expect. God, it's so
fucking sensitive. The steering wheel feels a bit like Ty's
dick. It's got a life of its own. Got to remember to tell him
that. The kart handles okay though. Make that great. Let's
see what it can do. Push it into the corner. Fucking bitch!
So that was what Ty meant. Too easy to over-correct. But it
sticks like glue. That's good! Keep calm next time. Get the
speed up again. It's not going to flip on me. Next curve com-
ing up. That's a lot better. Done with the corners at the
bottom of the track. That was cool. Like driving a Formula
One. Remember to come in tight next time around. Okay, one
lap down. Let's see what she can do if I push it."

Later, Ty told me that my first lap time was 35.3 sec-
onds. The second lap was just under 30 seconds, and the third
lap was as he put it, `a speck under 25 and a half.' He
didn't know that the lap timer built into the shifter told me
it was 25.4 seconds.

"Great job, Terry," Shaw acknowledged when I pulled the
kart back into the pits and killed the engine. "You almost
pulled it off a 25 on the last lap."

"The throttle's stickin' a mite, Pete," I remarked. "I
was tryin' to go slower."

Shaw laughed. "By the time we finish with you you'll be
pulling low twenties every lap. Did you ever think about rac-
ing karts instead of Nascar?"

"Nope. Ty's goin' to be the kart-jockey," I answered as
I struggled to get out of the cramped seat. "I got ma work
cut out in keepin' up with him."

Like a playful puppy, Ty bounded over and hugged me. It
was the first time that he showed any affection for me in
front of other people, Bobbie excepted. It felt good to have
his arms locked around me, his face burrowing into my chest,
his shoulders held under my arm. Boys like Ty were built to
hug. He was just the right size.

"You were awesome, Terry," Ty said softly.

I grinned. I could tell he was impressed. "I was okay.
You was the awesome one, Ace."

"I thought ya was goin' to do it. Just a half-second
off, Terry. It's like nuthin'. Half a second."

"Yeah, the only trouble with that, Sport, is that races
are won and lost by even less than that," I replied. "Sorry
about missin' the beer, though."

"Yeah, well, you still done great, Terry." He sounded
impressed. He glanced to the side. "That Heekin guy over
there. Man, what an ass-hole. He was makin' fun a yer the
first two laps, but he shut up real fast on the last one."

"While we're waitin', let's go talk about the track."

We ambled off to find a place where we could see the
track. I wanted to talk with him before his instructor did.
In the space of five minutes I went over the track with Ty.
He had good instincts and an even better memory. I was
impressed by his conclusions. Some drivers never understood
how to take advantage of the track. He had already decided
how he would drive the next time around.

"That Heekin guy looks at me like you do," he announced
as we stood up to stretch our legs before joining our respec-
tive groups.

"Huh?"

"He looks at me weird."

"I look at you weird?" I asked, making the logical con-
nection.

"Yeah."

"Weird? Now, what in hell does that mean?" I was sud-
denly curious.

"Duh! I dunno." He shrugged ambivalently. "It's hard to
explain. Just weird, okay?"

"That's helpful."

Ty gave me his `boy are you dumber than a rock' look.

"This sounds stupid but, well,-it's like ya want to eat
me and yer tryin' ta figure out what part ta eat first."

"I already know," I laughed. "I'm startin' off with
breakfast."

"Huh?"

"Sausage and two eggs. Of course, I'm followin' up with
some boy-butt"

Ty rolled his eyes. "You gotta one track mind, Terry."

"Yeah, don't I. And ya love it too, Hollywood. Ya live
ta be teased."

"Maybe," Ty admitted cautiously. "Maybe yer just a
dirty old man like `im."

"Huh? Whose a dirty old man?"

"That Heekin guy. That's why he was givin' me tha look,
Terry."

"Yer kiddin'?"

"He's into boys like you. I bet ya anything."

"Hm,- How about bettin' yer butt?" I teased.

"Like how? Yer finger?"

"I was thinkin' of somethin' bigger."

"Jesus. Ya never give up, do yer? I keep tellin' ya,
there ain't nuthin' that big ever going up there."

Still, he smiled, ambling beside me as we wandered
around the parking lot. The banshee wail of the karts on the
track died away leaving a sudden silence.

"I guess we better be gettin' back fer instruction," Ty
said.

"Heekin really looks at ya like I do?"

I was perturbed by the possibility that another man was
attracted to Ty. Equally disturbing was the fact that Ty had
been sexually aroused in front of him. How had Heekin inter-
preted that?

"Duh! Ya blind or somethin'?"

"No."

"Anyways, ya looked at his kid tha same way."

"Well, his nephew is kind of cute."

"Ya mean hot, don't ya Terry?" Ty chided.

I was not about to say that I found another boy to be
interesting. He was certainly not in Ty's league, not even
remotely close to being included in the `drop-dead gorgeous'
category, but he did have that certain something that
attracted me. Instead, I shrugged vaguely. Another dozen
paces brought us back to the pit area.

"I'll keep an eye on him, okay?" I said to Ty as much as
a warning to myself.

"I can take care of me," Ty said pointedly.

"I'm sure ya can, Ace."

"Ya figure they's like us, don't ya Terry?"

"You mean?-"

Ty grinned and nodded.

"I reckon I ain't the only man alive who likes boys," I
replied softly. "And ya probably ain't tha first boy whose
got the hots for an older guy either, Ace."

Ty gave an exasperated sigh that was as fake as it could
be. I laughed and swatted his butt, then stood and watched as
he headed off to join his group, most of who had gathered
around one of the instructors.

"Hey, Terry. After class finishes this afternoon, Bran-
don and I are going down to the beach. I was wondering if
your and, er,- Ty, right, would like to join us?"

"Huh?"

I turned around. Heekin had a bad habit of sneaking up
on a person and then speaking when he was inches away. I had
been looking forward to spending some `quality' time, mean-
ing sex, with Ty. However, I was about to learn that once a
person had been cornered by Heekin it was impossible to
escape.

"Um, well, see, Ty brought his swim shorts with him, but
I don't have my stuff," I muttered in a feeble excuse.

"Not a problem. I've got a couple of spare towels in my
trunk. There's an extra pair of shorts too, if I remember
correctly."

"Well, that's real nice of yer, Pierce," I explained.
"But,-"

"I won't take no for an answer," Heekin interjected.
"It's decided. We'll let the boys surf for an hour or two and
I've got a six pack of Fosters in my cooler. We can hang out.
I sound more and more like Brandon,- That boy's a bad influ-
ence on me. But I guess you're used to that with Ty."

"He's cool," I agreed.

"Then, it's a plan. We can go to Cafe Jack's for some
dinner afterwards. It'll be my treat."

Only then did I realize the problem that I had gotten
myself into. With my credit cards maxed out, and no cash in
my pocket, I would have a difficult job putting food on the
table for the next day or two. It would take that long until
Bobbie reached Asheville and paid the credit card bills, and
that was assuming the check would clear from Daytona. The way
things stood, I would have difficulty buying dinner even if
we ate at McDonalds.

"Damn," I groaned.

"Pardon? Look if you really don't want to, Terry, I
don't mind. I just thought the boys would enjoy it. Brandon
gets lonely. There's no one else his age and,-."

"Oh! I'm sorry, Pierce. I didn't mean nuthin' like
that. I was thinkin' of somethin' else. Me `n Ty, well we
would love it."

"Great! We'll finish at 3.00 sharp, if they stay on
schedule that is. Let's all meet here."

"Sure," I said agreeably. It was nice to think that din-
ner had been taken care of. I could even put up with Heekin
if it meant that he paid.



The funny thing was that I learned a lot that first day,
and not just about driving karts. To start with, Pete was a
good teacher, and like a good teacher he made you aware of
what you didn't know by encouraging discovery. I began to
rethink how I drove a race car. The key was in being smooth
and precise. That meant planning in advance, but also devel-
oping the ability to anticipate what might happen on the
track and to know what to do when it did happen. That day,
over a five hour period, I completed 45 laps, a total of less
than 20 minutes on the track. It seemed like a lifetime. I
analyzed, replayed, re-analyzed. I did it until my head was
throbbing, until I was unable to think of anything except
what I was doing incorrectly. I began to realize how little I
really knew about driving.

I sweated profusely, and as the day grew hotter, the
beach looked better and better. Over lunch, Ty told me that
his best time so far was 32 seconds. I was impressed. He was
driving a seventeen horsepower sprint kart, after all. Of
course, I was well aware that weight make a big difference
with karts. Next to me, Ty weighed next to nothing, well a
third to be exact. The next heaviest person in the entire
group was Brandon and there was probably thirty pounds dif-
ference between the two of them. Ty would have a big advan-
tage up to the time he started the growth spurt that boys go
through at puberty. Unless there were other boys his size
racing, he would be difficult to beat. With sweat dripping
from him, he liked the idea of spending the rest of the
afternoon at the beach.

Like me, he had also learned a great deal. But, there
was more.

"Brandon's funny," he announced as we chewed our sand-
wiches, courtesy of a vending machine that we had passed on
the way from the motel.

"Yeah, and his dumb-ass uncle's a laugh a minute," I
answered.

Ty licked his lips. He had picked the `turkey delight'
which was mostly lettuce. What I could see of the turkey, it
was grey and as thin as a sheet of paper.

"I'm not talkin' funny ha-ha," he responded.

"Funny as in like weird?"

"Yeah."

"Seems to me that accordin' to Ty Kincaid, everyone's
weird," I said flatly. "So how's he weird?"

Ty gave me another `dumber than a rock' look.

"'cause he is,-." He pursed his lips thoughtfully,
pushing his fingers through his damp hair. The helmet had
pushed it down.

"That's helpful."

Ty grinned. "Well fer one thing, he knows how to drive
real good, Terry. But he don't go all that fast. Me, I don't
know near as much, but I'm getting' better times."

Ty's best time was already half a second faster than
Brandon's, and according to Heekin, his nephew was supposed
to be one of the best junior drivers in the region. I won-
dered if Ty knew that. He had not been around when Heekin
told me.

"That's because ya got balls, Ace. Small ones maybe,
but they're still balls."

Ty smirked. "Well, it ain't that, Terry. Brandon's got
balls too, n' they're way bigger than mine."

"Now, how do you know that, Hollywood?" I teased.

"Cause we went to the can a while ago `n he showed me.
He's got some hairs around his dick too, but they're real
hard ta see."

"Ya checked him out pretty good, huh? It sounds like ya
did more than sneak a peak."

Ty shrugged, then slowly smiled. "Yer fuckin' jealous!"

"Yeah, like I'm jealous of Brandon."

He laughed. "Ya wanna know somethin' else?"

"Okay."

Ty smirked. "He's got a real big dick, Terry. It's huge.
It's not as big as yers or nuthin' like that, but he's got
that skin hangin' off tha end."

"Uncut, huh?"

Ty nodded and opened his sandwich to examine what was
between the two pieces of bread. He shook his head in disbe-
lief. "Turkey fuckin' delight, it ain't," he complained.

"Yeah, well I didn't do no better with the `Roast Beef
Bonanza'." I chewed and swallowed. "So what makes him
weird?"

Ty didn't answer immediately. His answer was hardly
what I expected, or perhaps it was.

"See, I would'a showed him mine anyways. Ya know how it
is. One guy shows his dick first, and then the other guy does
the same `cause it's only fair."

"And?" I prompted.

"Before I could pull it out, he said he'd give me five
bucks ta show him."

"Huh? He wanted to give you five bucks to see yer
weenie?" I asked.

Ty nodded matter-of-factly. If I expected to see embar-
rassment I was talking to the wrong boy.

"And?"

Ty reached into his vest pocket and extracted a crum-
pled up five dollar bill. "I would'a done it for nuthin', ya
know Terry, `cause it was ma turn `n all. But I wadn't about
to give it back once he give it to me."

"He just wanted to see yer boy-dick? He didn't want to
touch ya or mess with ya?" I asked nervously.

"Jesus, Terry, what do ya think I am? Some kinda hooker
or somethin'? I ain't like that. I ain't foolin' around with
no one fer money."

He sounded upset, not angry but disappointed I could
say such a thing. He seemed to be saying that he was being
faithful to me, or perhaps that was what I wanted to hear.

"Sure, ya like girls and everythin'," I said cynically.

"It ain't that." Now, he sounded irritated.

"Don't be takin' offense, Ace," I said hastily. "I
don't want no one messin' with ma boy if he don't want to be
messed with."

"It's okay."

We sat in silence, consuming our sandwiches, watching
the surf break along the beach.

"Did he say anythin' about his uncle?" I asked after a
while.

"Like what?"

"Shit, I don't know. What we was talkin' `bout ear-
lier?"

Ty shook his head. "Ya think he's a fag?" he asked curi-
ously. "

"Who knows, Ace?" I pondered. "Cal'fornia's `sposed to
be full of `em."

They were sitting in the bleachers, as we were. The
bleachers were set up overlooking the track with the ocean as
backdrop so they enjoyed the view as well as getting what
little breeze happened along. However, unlike us, they had
chosen to sit close to the pits. I was tired of breathing
gasoline fumes and chose a position where we were as far as
possible from the pits.

"He don't look like one," Ty observed. "Least ways no
more `n you or Bobbie do."

"I ain't a fag," I rebuked. "I got a bad case of boy
love, that's fer sure, but that's all it is."

"I figured yer different to Bobbie `cause he only likes
men."

"Dumb-ass. He don't know what he's missin'." I grinned
at Ty. "There ain't nuthin' cuter than a ten-year-old with a
three inch dick."

He ignored my comment.

"So how much do ya reckon one `a them shifters costs,
Terry?"

"No idea. Set up properly, they're probably getting'
close to ten thousand."

"Shit! That much?"

"Ya wouldn't get much change I reckon."

"They're cool," Ty said wistfully. "I wish I had one."

"The one I got ain't much better than them sprints yer
drivin'. Why don't ya wait until ya see what Bobbie does to
yers?"

Ty stretched and yawned. The sun was having a similar
effect on me and I followed with a yawn of my own. For a
trailer-park kid Ty had remarkably good teeth. From what I
had seen, he was less than earnest about brushing unless I
reminded him, but that went with the territory. All kids were
like that. The only explanation that I could come up with was
that he didn't get much candy.

"He's sittin' awfully close to his uncle," I observed.

In fact, Heekin and his lanky nephew were sitting so
close that it would have been difficult to separate them with
the slice of meat from Ty's `turkey delight'.

"Maybe he's cold?" Ty joked.

"Yeah right. It's just us sweltering up here by our-
selves, Ace."

"I think he's feelin' him up," Ty remarked with amuse-
ment.

"Huh? Who's feelin' who up?" I sat up.

"Look at `em, terry. Ya cain't see his uncle's left
arm," Ty said. "And he's using his right hand to eat with."

"It don't mean he's playin' with Brandon's dick."

"I bet ya he is, though. Five bucks says he's gettin'
him off!"

I laughed. "I don't have five bucks to bet with, Ace.
Between me `n you, I'm flat broke `til Bobbie pays tha bill
on tha credit card."

"Ya gotta get a sponsor, Terry," Ty lectured. "There
ain't no way the team can depend on ya otherwise."

"Tell me somethin' I don't know, Ace. Shit, but I've
tried. We ain't the type to get picked up by the big corpora-
tions. I've met with `em all. They ain't interested. One of
`em even said we ain't professional enough. Fuck `em! I ain't
wearin' some suit `n tie just to please some bunch of ass-
holes."

Ty gave me a long thoughtful look. "Ya got what it take
ta win. Ya just ain't tried the right approach. Yer car is
way faster, `cept for a few of `em that is, and yer a way
better driver than most of `em."

"You ain't wrong." I smiled. Ty made me feel proud.
"Sometimes, it just comes down to luck, Ty. Now that we got
ya on board we'll start winnin' some races."

He did not appear to be convinced. Suddenly, he stopped
chewing and shook his head.

"What's up, Ace?"

"Ya ever figure maybe yer doin' somethin' wrong `n ya
don't realize it till someone tells ya?" he pondered.

"That makes a lot of sense. Give me an example of some-
thin'."

"Well, like how ya look to a sponsor fer one thing? Ya
gotta understand what they're lookin' fer, Terry."

"So why don't ya tell me."

I wanted to sound patient. He was on the team, and the
way I ran the team, that was enough to give him the right to
voice an opinion. Still, it was difficult. Trying to find a
sponsor had been an exercise in frustration.

"No need to get sarcastic," Ty chided. "Okay. Here's
what I think. They're lookin' fer a team that looks good,
right, even if they don't win?"

"Why would they do that?"

"Well,- I dunno. Maybe, well,- It sounds dumb, but
they're big companies ain't they? So they're run by lawyers
and accountants and stuff."

"Yeah. Most of `em are like that. Some's got what's
called an MBA. They all look the fuckin' same that's fer
sure."

"Okay,- See, I think yer hit it right on tha head.
They're lookin' fer someone like `emselves."

"Why?"

"Cause that's all they know," Ty suggested hopefully.

"Well, there's only one problem with that, Ty. See, I
done tried it already. I done the whole suit and tie thing
and it didn't work worth a damn."

Ty was crestfallen and I regretted what I said
instantly. Then, he shook his head.

"It ain't just the fuckin' clothes, Terry. It's fuckin'
everythin'."

"Yeah, like what smart ass?" I realized I sounded as
churlish as he did.

"Well, fer one thing, it's how we talk."

"It ain't me who's sayin' fuck every other word," I
chided.

"Yeah, but ya ain't no different other than that. Lis-
ten to yerself, Terry. We both sound like a coupla dumb
hicks. It's like people think we don't have no brains `cause
of how we talk."

It struck me suddenly that not only was he correct, but
that Bobbie had been trying to tell me the same thing for the
last year. It had been Bobbie's idea that I wear a suit and
tie to the meetings with potential sponsors. He had even sug-
gested that I `clean up my act'. Unfortunately, he had not
been specific.

"Yeah, ya may be right, I `spect," I grumbled.

Ty nodded. "Ms. Delaware, she's always tellin' me ta
speak proper. It's not like I'm ignorant."

"Who's she?"

"One of ma teachers. I think she likes me," Ty volun-
teered shyly. "She got real worried when I got sick."

"Sick? How?"

"It weren't nuthin' Terry. I was gettin' bad headaches
fer a while. She took me to her doctor to make sure I was
okay. What I'm sayin' is she always told me to talk smart
otherwise people thought yer was dumb."

"Yeah, I can see what a great impact she had," I said
sarcastically.

Ty returned a caustic look. He cleared his throat.
"It's not that I can't talk properly," he said with careful
enunciation. "It's because I'm trying to fit into my cul-
ture." He smirked. "Um,- what was it that she used to make me
say,- I remember. The rain in Spain falls mainly on the
plain."

"Yeah, you and me both, Ace," I said trying to mimic his
voice but losing it when my bass could not match his unbroken
voice.

He laughed. "So say it, Terry. The rain in Spain falls
mainly on the plain."

"Jesus! The fuckin' rain in Spain falls mainly on the
plain."

"That's fucking, Terry, not fuckin'," Ty guffawed.

"Okay, ya made yer point," I grumbled.

He shook his head, mocking me with his bright eyes. "You
still sound like a good ole boy. Say it properly, Terry."

"Jesus. Okay, you made your point, Ace."

"See you can do it if you try. Now,-" Ty grinned slyly,
thinking. I wondered what was going though his head.

Okay, I got it," he said softly, too confidently for
comfort.

"Okay, what?"

"Here's the deal. If you want to keep messing around
with me, you have to promise to keep trying."

"What?"

"You heard me, Terry."

I don't get it."

"Okay, I'll spell it out for you." He took a deep
breath. The look on his face was hardly reassuring.  "If you
want to play with my dick you have to speak properly." He
smirked and cupped his hand over his groin.

"That's it?" I asked testily.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Uh huh. See, I figure that
if you want more of this, you'll try really hard."

"I'll try," I laughed. "But only because I love playin'
with yer teenie weenie."

He rolled his eyes. We both knew that I would never stop
teasing him about the size of his penis. It wasn't even that
small, not compared to other boys his age, but I knew that it
annoyed him.

"Promise?"

"I promise. I'll try to do better."

If I sounded sincere, it was because I was sincere. It
wasn't simply an excuse to play with his penis. With a little
effort on my part, and some luck, I could do that whenever I
wanted. Part of me enjoyed being under his control.

Ty giggled. "Okay. If you try real hard for the entire
day, Terry, I'll let you play with him for thirty minutes
each night."

"An hour," I demanded. Half an hour was unreasonable.

"Okay, an hour then," Ty agreed.

"But for the whole day?" I was good at negotiation.
"Even when we're alone?"

Ty considered that for a few seconds. "Okay. Whenever
we're around other people ya got to do it."

"What about when we're alone, like now?"

He smirked. "You've only got to try."

"You get whatever you want, don't you?"

He shrugged coolly.

"What do I have to do for a go at yer,- your ass?" I
asked, laughing.

"I already told you," Ty replied haughtily. "You win
one of the Nascar series and you get to do it. Then, you
whatever you want to with me."

"Anything?"

"Everything," Ty said seriously. "Whatever you want."



I didn't see Ty again until the classes ended at 3.30
p.m. The strange thing was that I was so busy that I didn't
give him more than a few moments of thought, not until I
climbed out of the kart for the last time and saw him stand-
ing with his hands on his hips talking authoritatively to
Brandon. I wandered through the pits, stopping only to tell
Shaw that I thought I had learned a great deal that day.

"I watched you on that last lap and you were over-steer-
ing like crazy," Ty admonished as Brandon went off to find
his uncle. "Your kart was going all over the place on the top
curves, Terry."

Suddenly, he had become the expert, but he was also cor-
rect in his observation. I scratched the back of my sweat-
dampened neck and opened the zipper of the suit to find
cooler air.

"It weren't,- wasn't that bad. It just got a bit twitchy
for a while," I joked.

"Well, I figured it cost you a good second."

"Did you? Hm, a whole second indeed," I challenged. "I
didn't think it was that bad."

"Maybe two seconds."

I laughed. "You didn't see my time by any chance, Ace?"

Ty quickly glanced at the digital timer, but my last lap
time had disappeared. He inclined his head, wondering why I
had mentioned the lap time.

"What was it?" he sounded less confident.

"21.4."

"21.4," Ty repeated. He almost said `fuck'. His mouth
stayed open. "No way," he muttered. "No way you got a 21.4."

I nodded. "Yep."

"But that's,-"

"A new track record," I finished. "That's what Shaw
just told me. He was pretty impressed. I was pushing it a bit
harder than I intended at the end so the tail flicked out on
me  a few times. It would have been fun to get it under 21."

"Wow!"

I smiled. "So are you ready to go fer a swim, Ace. Okay,
don't say it. I should have said `go for a swim'."

Ty grinned. "I bin thinkin' a' nuthin' but swimmin' fer
hours."

We laughed together. "Well let's go get outta these
fuckin' things," I said cheerfully. "God-damn sweat boxes."

I opened the front zipper of the race-suit as far as I
dared. It felt a lot better immediately. Ty's suit was also
open at the front, the zipper nearly at his navel. I reveled
in the sight of brown smooth skin.



The plan was to meet up with Heekin and his nephew in
the parking lot. They were waiting for us complete with an
armful of beach towels, a mid-sized cooler, and a pin-tail
surfboard.

"You guys come prepared for anything, I see," I said.

Heekin winked, fondly putting his arm around Brandon's
shoulders. "When you have a boy hanging around I've found it
pays to be prepared."

I was uncertain of what he meant by that, but I smiled
anyway. It seemed rude not to show amusement because the two
of them obviously thought it was funny. Ty offered to carry
the towels, leaving me without anything to carry, which was
okay by me. Unfortunately, the spare shorts that Heekin had
been intending to loan me and that were supposed to be in the
trunk had been left in the hotel room.

The foot-trodden path to the beach followed a circui-
tous route from the parking lot, meandering beside the track
for some of the distance until it reached the dunes. Then, it
seemed to have no purpose other than to maximize the distance
traveled. It had not looked that far when we had seen the
waves breaking on the beach from our vantage place in the
bleachers. I was close to giving up and calling the entire
proposition a mistake when we emerged from behind a grass-
covered sand dune to confront a long expanse of beach. In
either direction, and for as the eye could see, the beach was
deserted. With a loud whoop, Ty and Brandon galloped off
towards the surf.

"Just the way I like it. You couldn't get a better day
and there's not a soul to get in your way. That's the advan-
tage of coming on a weekday," Heekin said. He placed the
cooler on the sand. "Sometimes, it's so quiet after the kart
school ends that Bran and I skinny dip."

I shrugged and pretended to be disinterested. I was
anything but disinterested for the simple reason that I
could not think of anything that I would rather do with Ty.
Bobbie was adamant that my imagination left a lot to be
desired sometimes, but it was not difficult to imagine frol-
icking in the Pacific Ocean with him. I could picture it
clearly amid the brilliantly blue water and white foam, a
lean brown boy by the name of Ty Kincaid who lived to have
fun Then, my fantasy took a different direction. When we were
cooled off we would go back behind the sand dunes to find a
place where it was private and the surf was a distant roar. I
could see him stretched out naked on the sand, his body
flecked with glistening grains, with tiny beads of sweat,
his sex standing straight up, hungry for my touch.

"You want a beer, Terry. You certainly earned it on the
last lap."

My fantasy came to an abrupt end. I laughed and took the
can he was offering. Although I was used to spending hours in
the heat in pits of race tracks across the country, it had
still been a hard day. A long draft of icy cold ale was
exactly what I needed to restore my energy.

Heekin spread out a towel and shed his shirt. He was not
in much better condition than I was, although earlier he had
talked about working out for an hour day doing something
called `spinning'. I knew it had something to do with riding
a bicycle, although I was not sure what. If his physique was
the end result of an hour of exercise every day, I could not
see the point.

"Your son's been on a surfboard before I see," Heekin
said admiringly after I had settled down beside him.

Ty was about a hundred yards away, crouched low as the
board surged diagonally along the face of a wave. One slender
suntanned arm was pointed ahead, the other seeming to be
tucked up behind him. He seemed to have a good sense of bal-
ance even as the breaking wave caught up to him and then sub-
merged the board in a flurry of foam. By then he was only a
dozen paces from the sand. If Ty had told me that he could
ride a surfboard, I probably would not have believed him.

"Huh? Yeah, I see what you mean," I said proudly. I
waved to Ty and he waved back before picking up the board and
heading back to where Brandon was waiting for him.

"He's good."

"Growing up in Florida, I guess he learned how to ride a
surfboard."

Heekin nodded. "I bought the board a year ago for Bran-
don when he started coming out to my beach house on the week-
ends. I have a place on the beach at Malibu," he added.

I felt a twinge on envy. I did not have much that I
could call my own. Almost everything I owned had been sold to
pay for the car and the team's expenses. The sad thing was
that it would have been nice to have somewhere of my own
where I could take Ty.

"Brando's only just started standing up. That boy of
yours is quite something."

I turned, raising my eyebrow. "Yeah, he is that."

Heekin nodded. "Did you give any more thought to what we
talked about earlier?"

"You mean about him modeling?"

"It would be more than modeling. There's some of that,
of course-. I mean if he got the AFC work."

"AFC?"

"Sorry. American Foods Corp. The marketing strategy
calls for an all-American boy."

"Yeah, so you said."

"He's ideal. He has the perfect face. He's very good
looking but not at all girlish. Very photogenic!"

I sipped the beer, savoring the taste even though the
can was rapidly getting warm. Other than putting it back in
the cooler there was no way to keep it cool.

"I tried to get Brandon the role," Heekin continued.
"No way would his mother go for the idea."

"That's a pity. He's a real cute kid."

Heekin glanced at me, trying to decide it I was being
sincere.

"Yeah," he said agreeably. "He's cute alright, but he
still wasn't right for the job. He doesn't have what your boy
has."

"What's that?"

"Hm,... it the trade we call it that certain something.
If he was older, I'd say sex appeal."

"So what you're looking for is a sexy All-American
boy?"

Heekin did the belly laugh I enjoyed. "I wouldn't put it
that way, but if you've ever taken a good look at what makes
for a successful model, that's really what it mostly comes
down to. Of course, I could say that to my boss."

"Why not?"

Again, the belly laugh. It was enough to suggest he was
becoming inebriated. From what I had observed so far, he
drank heavily, almost as much as I did. However, some, per-
haps most of that could be explained by the heat, that came
from above as much as from the seared sand beneath our tow-
els.

"By the way, seeing that you son's so good in a kart we
would probably feature that in some of the commercials. It'd
be a whole new approach. Plus he can surf, and I know we can
use that." he was still trying his best to convince me.

I shrugged, somewhat amused because I could not help
thinking what Heekin would say if he knew that Ty was also
wonderful in bed.

"It's been impossible to find the right person for the
job," Heekin went.

He talked regardless that seldom responded. I was
watching Ty, who was watching Brandon do a less than spectac-
ular ride. Suddenly a wave crashed about him so that he stood
waist deep in water, resisting against the ocean as it
swirled around him.

"He has a nice body," Heekin said quietly, echoing my
thoughts exactly. As if he suddenly realized what he had
said, he continued, "He's in excellent shape, I mean. He's
even got himself a nice little six-pack!"

Yeah, well I make him do 50 sit-ups every morning you
see. He can already bench-press 200. Most of it comes from
carrying gearboxes around."

Heekin guffawed. "I try to get Brandon to get fit. He's
too skinny. He probably has half the muscles that your boy
has. You know, Brandon and I do a lot of outdoor things, but
it's only on the weekends. Some of it is his build, of
course, but he spends most of his time in front of his com-
puter. It's not good for him, but his mother doesn't seem to
care. If it wasn't for me he'd never get off his butt."

"I'm not sure if Ty would know what a computer was if it
hit him in the head. He sure don't,- doesn't own one. In
fact, to be honest with you, I've never used one myself."

"Ha, I don't believe that for a minute. Don't you Nascar
drivers use high tech equipment?"

"That's true. My mechanic does some stuff on his laptop
and I see reports after the race. They're helpful and all,
but life was a lot simpler without them. Anyway, don't ask me
what Bobbie does to get them though."

Heekin laughed. "It's a changing world, Terry. Get that
boy a laptop of his own as soon as you can. Brandon even uses
his to do things for his kart. He was showing me some of the
carbon fiber panels available for his kart only last night."

And so the conversation went. The boys surfed and
Heekin and I talked. We talked fast cars and boys. Heekin
seemed to bring up the latter subject with unnerving fre-
quency. Not that I didn't like talking about boys because I
did, but it was almost as if he could read my thoughts as I
watched Ty and occasionally Brandon. I noticed that Ty was
doing his best to give the older boy pointers on how to ride
the surfboard, but Brandon's response was much like Ty's had
been when Brandon had pointed out some of the problems with
his driving style. There seemed to be a friendly rivalry
between them, as if they were competing for something but
neither of them was quite sure what it was.

We were well into our second beers when the boys took a
break from surfing and came to join us.

"If you're thirsty there's plenty of drinks in the
cooler, Ty," Heekin said. "Help yourself to something you
like."

Ty ambled over to the cooler and used his foot to flip
the lid open. To me, he looked like a gymnast as he balanced
on one foot and studied the contents of the cooler.

"How about a beer, Mr. Heekin?" he called back to
Pierce.

"That's okay by me, but you'll have to ask your dad,"
Heekin answered as he followed Brandon down to the beach.

I laughed and shook my head, suspecting that Ty could
quaff a can as fast as I could. I also had my suspicions
about Heekin and Brandon. Not that they weren't uncle and
nephew, because they were obviously related, but I wondered
about the nature of their relationship. It seemed highly
unlikely that they were having sex. I mean what are the
chances of meeting another man-boy couple? I had heard a lot
about gay California, but still. It was also our first day. A
thousand to one? More like a million to one.

"So can I have a brew?" Ty asked boldly.

"Yeah. Get yerself one them special brewed cokes, Ace.
It says `caffeine free right there on tha side."

Ty shook his head slightly, suddenly disinterested. He
used his foot to flip the lid of the cooler back down. He
moved so that he stood over me, dripping water.

"Ain't ya going for a swim, Terry?" he asked. There was
nothing in his voice to suggest disappointment. I was glad he
had a short memory. Like me, he had resorted to speaking the
way he was used to.

I shook my head. "I didn't bring my shorts, remember?"

"The water's great."

"I'm sure it is. It can wait till tomorrow. Yer pretty
incredible on that surfboard, Ace."

"Thanks." He smiled weakly, looking down at me. "I used
ta have one, Terry. A good one too, a pin-tail just like
Brando's. I saved forever ta get it, but then I sold it ta
get stuff for tha kart."

"That sounds familiar," I lamented. "Sometimes I wonder
if racin' is worth the effort."

"It is," Ty said confidently. "Yer gonna start winnin'
races soon. I just know it."

"Hey, I gotta say, that sure sounds better when you
don't sound like some ass-hole from up north. There ain't
nuthin' beats a good ole boy. `Yer gonna start winnin'
races'," I quoted him and laughed.

Ty grinned. "Just so's we talk right when we ain't
alone. Ms. Delaware would be prouder than hell that we're
even tryin',... trying."

"Yeah. If I keep it up, I get to do anything I want,
right?" I teased. It was difficult to imitate Heekin's West
Coast accent.

Ty laughed. "Yeah, but only when ya win, ya get that.
All yer getting' tonight is yer hand on ma weenie,- fer an
hour. I'm gonna time ya too."

"Damn!"

"So what was you and dick-head talkin' about?"

"Dick-head?"

"Well he is!" Ty grinned. "He sounds just like one a
them dumb asses on the phone tryin' ta sell ya some shit ya
don't fuckin' need."

"We was talkin' cars mostly. He's in love with that Por-
sche a his. He's got one a them Turbos too, but he brung that
one `cause of it's convertible. It was Porsche this and Por-
sche that."

Ty shrugged. "Yeah, well lawn mowers are air-cooled
too, ain't they? All you guys talked `bout was cars?"

"Mostly, like I said. And he talked about ya doing com-
mercials fer his cereals again. He must have said a dozen
times that you was perfect or ideal. Somethin' like that. He
got really excited when he seen ya on tha surfboard."

"He thought I was okay on tha board?"

"Okay? No, yer awesome, dude. Hell, I was impressed and
I don't know shit about surfin'."

"Brandon is pretty good on it."

"Maybe. Yer much better if ya ask me."

He grinned proudly. "Ms. Delaware used to say flattery
will get ya no where, but compliments will usually get ya
somewhere."

"Maybe. I guess it depends on where ya want ta go, Ace?"

"Hm,- I think I know where I want to go,-" He paused,
casting his eyes along the beach before he turned back. "How
about somewhere quiet?" he said softly.

"Quiet?"

"Like where no one can see us. Like them fer starters,"
Ty said suggestively, gesturing vaguely towards Pierce and
Brandon.

"Why?"

"Duh! Like I'm hot,- ya know,- as in h-o-t!" he said
hesitantly.

He glanced down again, meeting my eyes on the way.
Heekin was right about Ty's `six pack'. The boy had better
developed abdominal muscles than a lot of teenagers. How-
ever, if Ty was trying to suggest by `h-o-t' that he was sex-
ually aroused, there was no sign of it in his shorts, at
least none that I could see. His shorts were wet and they
clung to his body. There was a bulge where there was supposed
to be one, no large than usual, hemispherical in shape, cer-
tainly not elongated if his penis was erect. If anything that
part of him was more than likely shriveled by spending an
hour in the water.

He suddenly broke eye contact, smiled slightly and
added under his breath. "Let's stop fuckin' around, Terry.
Do you want to mess `round or not?"

"Do I want to? Ya must be jokin'. Ya mean yer horny and
ya want me to do somethin' about it?" It was amusing to hear
Ty take the initiative.

He giggled his only answer.

"Hm,- Now I'm really confused."

"Why?"

"Well, because yer the one who wants to have sex instead
of me," I said gleefully.

"So? Boys get horny too, ya know. It ain't just men."

"That's why ya want to go somewhere private."

"Duh! Yeah, like we should do stuff where people can see
us. I was thinkin' of back there," he replied, gesturing over
his shoulder in the general direction of the parking lot.

There were a lot of sand hills between the beach and the
parking lot. It would not be difficult to find a place where
we would be undisturbed.

"Sounds good to me," I said.

I sat up brushing the sand from my clothes. Immedi-
ately, Ty grabbed my hand and dragged away until he managed
to bring me to my feet.

"What's the big rush?" I pretended to grumble.

"Ain't no big rush."

"Okay. What brung this urge on all of a sudden?"

Ty grinned at me. "Yer doin' so good with yer promise, I
thought maybe I'd give ya something to look forward to
tonight. A re-ward kinda,- "He stopped himself with a grin.
"Kinda like payment in advance to keep yer mind on tha job.
That's what Ms. Delaware used to do with me when I tried
extra hard. I got a reward."

"Ah, like a pick-me-up," I said, thinking of the many
afternoon beers that I had enjoyed with Bobbie over the
years.

I was beginning to like Ms. Delaware more and more. She
seemed to have been the only good influence in Ty's life.
Hopefully, I would be another.

Ty shrugged, still yanking on my hand. I glanced over my
shoulder. Brandon had also seemed to have something on his
mind besides surfing. He had left the surf board on the sand
and was running around Pierce. It sounded like he was laugh-
ing. By comparison, Ty seemed very intent for a change,
almost serious. I began to wonder whether he had experienced
some sort of difficulty with the older boy.

A minute of walking took us well off the beaten track
and so far into the sand dunes that I doubted we'd be able to
find our way back. Even a sea gull would get lost where we
went. Of course, there was always the rumble of the waves
breaking on the shore, so it would be a simple matter to find
our way back to the beach.

"We should have brought a towel," I announced when Ty
stopped dragging me along.

"Why?"

"Well, because,-. You know. The sand's god-awful hot.
ya wouldn't want sand gettin' in yer hiney hole, now would
ya?"

He smirked. "Maybe we don't need a towel fer what I got
in mind, Terry."

His voice had taken on a distinct husky tone. He did
that when he was nervous or excited, or both.

"And what have ya got in mind that don't need a towel."

"Ya sucked ma dick okay," Ty said lewdly. "I was
thinkin' maybe ya wanted to do it some more."

"Hm. So ya liked getting' the weenie licked huh?"

"It was cool." His voice was edgy yet doing its best to
be indifferent.

"Just cool?"

"Okay, it was way better than awesome," Ty smirked.

"Ya liked it a lot, huh?"

"Yeah. What's not ta like?"

I smiled. "The thing about suckin' cock is takin'
turns," I teased, wondering how far Ty would go with a little
push.

"I ain't doin' that ta yer dick," he responded
instantly.

I laughed. "Just give him a little lick? he's feeling
kinda left out. It's all I want ta keep me happy."

"Maybe. Okay. Once ya done mine, I'll do yers, but only
lickin' on tha side! I ain't puttin' it in my mouth."

"Ya got a deal. Lose yer shorts, Hollywood," I ordered.

I stepped back a pace and watched. Already I had learned
that there was something intensely arousing about watching a
young boy take his clothes off, even wet swim shorts. Ty had
to peel the sodden cloth away from his body, wriggling his
hips to get the elasticized waistband over his narrow hips.
He shoved the wet nylon down his thighs, past his knees, to
his feet. He stepped away, coming closer to me. His eyes were
sparkling with the thrill of what he was doing. He was in the
open, even though it was as private there as any bedroom I
had ever been in. He licked his lips, meeting my eyes shame-
lessly.

"It feels funny doin' this where peopel could see us."

"Ain't no one gonna bother us back here," I said confi-
dently.

Ty smiled slightly and glanced around, making sure.
"Tha sun feels real nice on my butt." His eyes flickered. He
was still nervous, but his excitement more than compensated.

"It really ain't so small when it's all boned up," I
teased. "Hell, it might even be a tad over three inches."

"Four inches!" Ty said brusquely. "How many times have
I gotta tell ya it ain't three?"

"Maybe it was once but it shrank when ya stuck it in
that pussy?"

"Ha ha ha. Anyone knows it don't get smaller. Just big-
ger. It's gonna be bigger `n yers one day," he boasted.

"In yer dreams."

"Stop fuckin' around and suck it, Terry," he said
insistently.

"My but yer a horny little dude, ain't ya Ace."

Playfully, I pulled his little lever down, then without
warning, allowed it to spring back. I enjoyed the smack as it
slapped against his lower belly. It was difficult to believe
that something that was usually so soft and delicate could
also become so hard and unyielding. I knelt in the sand and
Ty stood in front of me.

I kissed it on the end, on the tiny rounded knob of his
glans. It was salty, hot, rubbery, and oh-so-soft. My lips
melted. My tongue brushed over it and he shivered. I held his
buttocks, one in each hand, my fingers content to line the
length of his crack. One finger touched his anus, touched
that little puckered dimple that was hidden from my sight. He
sighed. His buttocks clenched as his pelvis strained for-
ward. His penis pushed deeper. Behind my teeth, sinking into
the lush wet cavity of my mouth. Then, suddenly out again,
jerked away until only the helmeted tip was left inside. He
thrust back, urgently, shuddering with the rush of pleasure
yet still hungrily seeking to be reunited with my tongue and
enclosing lips.

Gently, I pushed him away and looked up.

"I'm doin' the suckin', Ace, and yer doin' the standin'
still."

"But,-"

"Ain't no buts, `ceptin' this one," I said, squeezing
his cheeks firmly. "Don't be humpin' my mouth or it gets
slapped big time.".

Ty grinned and nodded. He obediently placed his hands
on my shoulders and waited as I began to lick. My only pur-
pose was to give him the pleasure that he needed. From
behind, I parted his cheeks, using my fingernail to graze his
opening until he wriggled back against me. It was strange how
the realization came to me that I controlled him with a sin-
gle finger. The awareness of my complete power over him
increased even further after my finger eased carefully into
the outer ring of his anus. Ahead, I could feel the taut mus-
cular band of his inner sphincter, temporarily resisting my
advance. The last time I had moved my finger in a slow circu-
lar motion until he relaxed sufficiently for me to penetrate
beyond the second joint. Then, he trembled every few sec-
onds, quivering as the sensations overwhelmed him. This
time, I was less patient and more demanding but it did not
seem to perturb him. I was aware of the rise and fall of his
chest with each deep breath, his soft hands still on my
shoulders, the erratic twitches of his limbs that signaled
the slow building up to ecstasy. I licked continuously, wet-
ting his sex until it was slippery and hot, nibbling on his
scrotum until he began to pull away.

"God!" Ty groaned when my lips finally formed a circle
around his erection and my tongue began to bathe the crown of
his hardness. "Oh, God that's so good, Terry."

His voice sounded distant, detached, almost as if he
was aware only of one thing. My teeth closed behind the del-
icate little cherry that crowned his penis, so tiny, yet so
incredibly sensitive. It was as if its entire purpose was to
be held within my mouth and tantalized by my tongue. I slob-
bered over his jutting boy-cock, using my finger like a probe
to feel around inside his anus. Beyond his clenching sphinc-
ter, the void welcomed my finger. I found myself thinking
thoughts that had never entered my mind before I met Ty. My
oral stimulation of his glans was rapidly becoming an art
form that only another man could truly appreciate. He shud-
dered suddenly, barely able to resist the instinctive urge
to resume thrusting his penis into my mouth.

"Oh, Terry,- Terry,-. Oh wow. It's good Terry. Don't
stop," he begged.

I did not stop. Instead, I became rougher with him,
scooping up my saliva from his scrotum before using my finger
forcefully, perhaps too forcefully. It slid deeper, gliding
on the slippery wetness, going further and further inside
him until my knuckles were rammed into his crack and the
entire length of my finger was buried inside him. So deep. So
deep that I could feel his inner heat, the looseness of his
rectum, the roundness of what I imagined (correctly) was his
bladder, and something else, a tiny bump that made him groan
loudly whenever my finger pushed against it.

I realized that his sphincter was grasping the base of
my finger, squeezing hard, then releasing. His bowels were
cramping, pulling against my finger. I yanked it free, add-
ing more saliva, then rammed it back again. Already, his
opening was so dilated that there was no resistance. He
grunted as another spasm passed. Now, my head moved rapidly,
pumping vigorously on his succulent organ, all but chewing
on the tender flesh. It was as if he was straining down, then
up again to meet my violent attack at both the front and back
of his body. He was, pushing with all his strength, jerking
forward, instinctively thrusting. I alone could make him
reach the pinnacle that was fast approaching. My hand moved
faster, a blur that burrowed deeply into him. Ty did not com-
plain. Instead, he became more aggressive as well. I felt him
straining against me, lifting up and forcing his belly
against my head. It was soft only on the outside, firm knot-
ted muscles beneath his silky skin cushioning like resilient
springs as our bodies moved together.

Without more warning than he did not push back against
my finger, he reached the peak. He gasped, finally giving in
to his instinctive need to groan in ecstasy even as his short
hard penis began to spasm. It was over in seconds but each
dry jerking pulse was distinct. It sent a thrill through me,
a surge of excitement that was satisfying in itself. His
knees buckled at the very end and he slumped forward, his
body trembling, his hips still thrusting, his penis escaping
from my mouth, my finger yanked from inside his rectum. I
stared in mute disbelief, seeing it shaking wildly, saliva
drooling down his slender brown thighs, and then I gulped his
penis back into my mouth.

Suddenly it was all too much for him. He pushed me away,
held me back with his arms straight. His eyes were wide, not
believing.

"No,- stop,- it hurts," he whined.

I wiped my lips, still tasting him, that strange taste
of a young boy's penis. A minute passed before Ty could
breath normally again.

"Fuckin' awesome," Ty muttered. He glanced down at his
still hard penis.

"Man, you got it all red."

"Sorry," I said humbly. Had I really done that?"

"'s okay. He licked his lips and slowly wiped his hand
across his brow. For a while, he stared at me, pensive. "It
hurt, what ya done to my butt."

"Sorry," I said again. "Ya didn't complain at tha
time."

"Yeah,- well I had other things on ma mind, didn't I?"

"Sure ya did, Ace." I smirked at him. "Ya sure must'a
liked it from the sounds ya was makin'. Oooaaahhhh," I mim-
icked, "Oh wow, Terry," I added in a falsetto.

"Did not!"

"Did too! Don't get uptight about likin' it, Ace. Yer
normal as fer as I know. I figure there ain't a boy alive who
don't like getting' his weenie sucked. Ya ready fer yer
turn?"

"I guess," Ty agreed reluctantly. "Ya gotta warn me. I
don't want yer stuff all over me."

"Sheez," I snorted. "It ain't like yer gonna swallow
it. It washes right off."

Ty grimaced and wiped his hands over his groin wiping
away what was left of my saliva.

"Ger-oss," he exaggerated, looking at his hands. "Ya
got me all wet."

"Yeah, I did, didn't I?" I smirked.

His penis glistened in the sun, the skin still
stretched, reddened all the way up to the little blue helmet.
It had not softened in the slightest. It was still as hard as
it could be, hard enough that I felt a twinge of envy.
Strange as it might sound, I was jealous of his youth and
that proud symbol of his boyhood. Boys were meant to love
boys, not men who were rapidly approaching middle age.

I stood up, casually placing my hand on Ty's bare shoul-
der. He resisted my downward pressure for a moment, but then
he yielded and sank to his knees. Playfully, I ruffled his
hair.

"Ya ready?" I teased.

"Yeah, I reckon. I ain't doin' more than lick it."

"Okay."

"I ain't puttin' it in ma mouth," he warned.

"So ya said already."

Ty scowled and I smiled back at him. I took a step
closer, until my rigid penis was inches away from bumping him
on the nose. He stared at it, so close that he could probably
feel the heat of it. Absently, he licked his lips. A moment
later he realized what he had done. He glanced up at me and I
nodded reassuringly.

"Suckin' on a guy's dick ain't tha end of tha world,
Ace," I said supportively.

"It don't mean I'm gay," Ty replied bluntly. "I'm only
doin' it `cause I owe you fer doin' mine."

He reached out, taking my penis in his small hand. I
smiled, realizing that although he was squeezing, the tips
of his fingers still could not meet the end of his thumb.

"Ya got yerself a handful there, huh Ace?"

"It sure is big enough," Ty agreed. He hesitated, his
hand trembling slightly. "It's like its alive or somethin'."

"It ain't gonna hurt ya, but if yer worried `bout doin'
it, ya don't have to."

"I know."

Again, his tongue swiped over his full red lips. His
head came closer at the same time as his hand brought my
penis downward. For an instant, he looked up again. His
expression was that of a boy about to do something that he
knew he should not do, but was going to do anyway. I felt the
tenderness of his lips, so soft that his first touch was
almost impossible to feel. However, I could see that his lips
were brushing over my penis, slipping slowly along the shaft
leaving a trail of wetness. As he neared the tip, he changed
from smooching to little kisses. It nearly tickled, but I was
too excited. Then, his lips came to my glans and he stopped.
The feeling changed suddenly, becoming even softer, wetter,
hotter. His tongue. He was using his tongue. So that was what
if felt like if someone licked your penis?

Quickly, he pulled away, looking up again. Now, his
expression was uncertain. Eyes wide. Nostrils flaring as he
inhaled, then exhaled. His lips were wet.

"That felt real nice, Ace," I murmured.

"It's hot," Ty replied. He sounded distracted.

"It don't taste too bad, does it?"

"It's okay. Kinda sweaty, but it ain't so bad."

I stroked the hair behind his ears with my thumbs, lift-
ing back until his mouth returned. I encouraged him by
caressing his cheeks, fondling gently as his lips began to
kiss. He progressed slowly, using his lips and tongue, com-
ing very close to taking my penis into his mouth but never
quite getting there. Just as my hands crept over his ears and
tried to guide his head down onto my penis, he pulled away.
It took a moment before his lips returned. He kissed my penis
tentatively, gliding his soft lips slowly towards the blunt
swollen tip. I waited with bated breath. Suddenly, he
stopped what he was doing, leering up at me with his clear
blue eyes, eyes that looked as if they should have been inno-
cent, but weren't. With his lips wrapped around the side of
my penis, he was anything but innocent. He had been at it for
nearly five minutes.

"What ya reckon, Ace?" I teased. "Ya getting' used ta
tha taste of dick yet?"

Ty seemed to think about it before he disengaged, and
then he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. He
licked his lips, perhaps feeling where they had been press-
ing against my maleness. I remembered that there had been a
strange sensation when I had sucked Ty's penis for the first
time. It was as if his penis made my lips tingle. I had
tasted him for most of the night, a sweet soft warmth that
kept me awake. At first he made a wry face, trying to show
distaste, yet finding it difficult not to smile. In some peo-
ple's eyes what he had done was distasteful, but not in mine,
not any longer. Once you had done it, you were changed for-
ever, at least not as far as I was concerned. Of course, the
only penis I could remember taking into my mouth was Ty's.
That alone probably made all the difference. The thought of
doing the same thing to a man turned my stomach.

He shrugged. My penis wagged eagerly in front his face,
only inches away from his lips. He did not get the hint that
I intended. It seemed as if I would have to be content with
all of five minutes.

"It ain't nearly half as bad as yer thought it was gonna
be, huh?" I added hopefully.

Another shrug, ambivalent, or so it appeared to me.
Apparently, he was not convinced that it was good or bad.

"It's like suckin' some huge sausage, like them brats
the Schneiders fix on their barbecue."

"Ya know `em from the trailer park?"

"Yeah. I think ya seen her. We passed `em on the way in.
Mr. Schneider, I like him a lot. I used ta pretend he was,-."
His voice had become wistful.

"Yeah?"

"Ma dad,- Ya know how it is? I never met him,- ma real
dad that is. Once, Mr. Schneider did some weldin' on tha kart
fer me, but it weren't right `cause a tha alloys being dif-
ferent `n all."

Bobbie will put that right pretty quickly, I thought.
He was a magician when it came to welding. Ty's hand stalled,
not moving, just holding my penis close to the base with a
finger and thumb. His other fingers curled up beneath my
scrotum.

"Ya got big balls," Ty mused. "Ya think mine'll be this
big, Terry?"

"Prob'ly. It'll take a coupla years fer that to happen,
I `xpect. They'll start growin' pretty soon now I reckon."

"Why?"

"Why do they grow? It's so's ya can make babies."

"'cause a tha sperms and stuff?" Ty queried.

"Yeah."

"It's kinda nice, I like 'em like this, them bein' big
`n all," Ty remarked absently. "It's just tha hair I don't
like."

"Sorry. I'll shave it off fer ya," I offered sarcasti-
cally.

"Okay,- I'll suck him proper if ya do, Terry," Ty
replied eagerly. He grinned at me.

"I was kiddin'."

"I ain't!" He let go of my penis and rose to stand
before me. He grinned. "Ya want me to suck yer dick all tha
way, don't ya?"

"Yeah. Who wouldn't?"

"Then ya know what it's gonna take." He glanced down to
where his swimming shorts were lying on the sand. "Ya know,
Terry, Brando was tellin' me they go skinny dippin' here
sometimes."

"Yeah, that's Heekin said. Him and Brandon in tha
buff,-. What are ya thinkin', Ace?"

Ty smirked. "We got the skinny part already, Terry. All
we gotta do is the dippin' part."

"Ya mean?... "

"I'm game. Ain't no one gonna see us, `ceptin' them.
Anyway, I bet ya Brando's gonna be runnin' around bare-butt
if I do."

"Ya mean we go back to that beach like this?"

"Yeah. You wanna?"

"I wouldn't mind coolin' off fer a while in the surf," I
admitted.

Ty laughed. "Seein' as I got ya all hot `n bothered,
huh?"

"Somethin' like that. That reminds me. I guess I gotta
teach ya one of tha most important lessons of life fer a
guy," I drawled.

"What's that?"

"It ain't wise to leave a dick half done. Ya either fin-
ish what ya start or ya run tha risk of havin' a sore hiney."

"I told ya I ain't doin' nuthin' like that!" Ty remon-
strated. "Least ways not until ya win one of tha series
races."

"I ain't plannin' on dickin' yer buity, boy. I was plan-
nin' on doin' this,-"

Before he could say or do anything, I grabbed his arm
close to the shoulder and spun him around. It was easy to
manhandle Ty, at least until he was prepared to fight back.
What he lacked in strength he more than made up for in agil-
ity. Luckily, I caught him by surprise. With my other hand I
smacked his bare bottom. Not too hard, certainly not hard
enough to hurt, but it was hard enough to make him yelp. I
left my hand there, clamped over his right cheek, pressing my
fingers into his crack, one finger searching.

He grumbled a complaint, then stopped as I leaned over
him and brought my lips close to his ear.

"It's a good thing yer cute, Kincaid."

"Why?" he challenged with a giggle.

"'cause I don't like bein' left with a hard-on by some
bratty little kid who don't know better."

"I ain't leavin' nuthin'. I'm just savin' him fer
tonight, assumin' ya do it that is."

"Do what?"

"Sheez. Yer shave him and I'll suck him off fer ya." Ty
giggled, hollowing his cheeks so that there was no room for
doubt of what he intended.

"All the way?"

"Yeah, I suppose." He was trying his best to sound
reluctant.

"And swallow?"

"Geez!"

"Yer promised, remember?"

"Did not!" Ty exclaimed. He grinned. "Fuck! What I said
was, I'd give yer a blow job fer bringin' me with ya. That
don't mean I gotta ta swallow."

"I don't see what yer worried about. Ya tasted Paul's
cum before I bet."

Ty scuffed his feet through the sand, not answering.

"It ain't that bad, now is it, Ace? Ya sucked him off
all tha way, didn't ya?" I posed.

"Maybe." Ty shrugged hesitantly, his feet still shift-
ing little piles of sand.

"Ha, yeah, ya have!" I winked at him to show I wasn't
angry. "That's one bet I'd win fer sure. A boy don't get lips
like yers, not unless he sucks cock," I taunted.

"Huh? What's wrong with ma lips?" Ty demanded. He
sounded slightly anxious.

"Nuthin'. Ain't ya looked in tha mirror lately?"

"Yeah." he sounded more perturbed. "So what's there ta
see?"

I laughed. It was no different to saying the size of his
penis was related to the size of his thumb. I smiled at the
memory. He had fallen hook, line and sinker, then. It seemed
like a long time ago. The fact was that part of me enjoyed
tormenting him. It went with the territory. Symbiotic tor-
ment. I teased him and he teased me back.

"See this little ridge here?" I began, pointing to the
fold above his upper lip. "Well,- see, it's like this, Ace.
When a guy sucks dick, it gets bigger, `cause it has to
stretch and all, so the lip muscles get stronger and bigger
like yer abs."

It almost sounded true. It was all I could to hold in my
amusement as Ty ran his finger over where mine had just been
pointing.

"It don't feel so big," he remarked. Suddenly he
grinned. "Yer havin' me on, ain't ya Terry?"

"Who me?"

He smirked. "Yer lips ain't no different ta mine `n the
only dick ya ever sucked is mine," Ty said, flipping his now
limp penis between his fingers so that it bounced from one
lean thigh to the other.

"Yer dick ain't tha issue, Ace. It ain't big enough to
stretch a mouth by anythin' noticeable."

"Well, ya sure liked it enough," Ty rebuked. "Fuckin'
slurpin' all over it, ya were. Anyway it's all I got so if ya
want more dick yer gonna have ta get yer blow jobs from Bob-
bie."

"There ain't no way," I laughed. "I don't want ma jaw
broke. `sides I prefer small dicks like yers."

"It's plenty big enough fer fuckin' pussy," Ty coun-
tered.

I laughed. "Are ya talkin' `bout yer three inch weenie
or the four inch one yer always dreamin' `bout? Anyways, ya
better stop wavin' that morsel `round or some sea gull's
gonna swoop down and bite it off."

"More likely some old pervert like you is gonna get his
mouth on it. Pervert, pervert, dick suckin' pervert," Ty
chanted.

"Takes one ta know one," I responded with the familiar
school-boy response. "I bet ya got a lotta practice suckin'
cock with yer friend, Paul?"

"Yeah, well,-" he could not think of anything to say.
Instead, he blushed. "It's so fuckin' hot. Let's go skinny
dippin' Terry," he said feebly.

I enjoyed it when he tried to change the topic.

"There ain't nuthin' to be ashamed of, Ace. Lotsa boys
suck dick. It's a rite a passage," I said as seriously as I
could.

"A what?"

"All I'm sayin' is it ain't a big deal. Just some fancy
words people use, Ace. All they mean is it's normal fer boys
yer age to fool around. Suckin' dick is just somethin' guys
do fer each other."

"Because they do it better than girls?" Ty asked curi-
ously.

I wondered where he had heard that. Paul?

"Hm,- I don't really know," I admitted. "Probably. But
it's tha only option ya got when there ain't no girls linin'
up to give ya pussy. A blow job will always get ya off."

Ty smiled. "Ya liked suckin' ma dick, didn't ya Terry?"

"Duh. Is tha Pope Catholic? What's not ta like? How
about you? Ya think ya want ta do it again some day?"

"It was okay," Ty said reluctantly.

"Ya liked suckin' Paul didn't ya?" I was envious of Paul
and there was no hiding it.

"Yeah, it was nice, but only `cause he ain't got hair
everywhere. It ain't big like yers either."

"He cummed in yer mouth?" I had to know, but I didn't
want him to answer.

"Yeah."

It was the answer I expected, which didn't make it any
easier. "Tastes gross huh?" I asked, wondering what semen
tasted like, hoping his answer was,... I didn't know what. I
had never tasted the essence of male, not even my own. I
wanted Ty to like how mine tasted, and no one else's.

"Nah. It ain't bad. Ya gotta swallow real fast," Ty
explained. "Then, it ain't got no taste, `ceptin' it's kinda
salty."

"Not slimy?"

"yeah, that too. The taste ain't why ya swallow."

He had not intended to tell me that, at least not then.
It said something about him that he preferred to keep hidden.

We cleared the last of the sand hills. Ahead was the
beach and the inviting surf. I saw Heekin and Brandon as
naked as the day they were born. They were standing knee deep
in the water, splashing each other furiously. It looked
staged, but it also seemed like a lot of fun. I dropped my
clothes on the sand and followed Ty into the water, keeping a
respectable distance between us and them. As Ty frolicked
around me, I realized that part of what attracted me to him
was his ability to have fun and enjoy life to the fullest no
matter what. That was how he had managed to survive.