Date: Wed, 18 Apr 2001 20:51:40
From: Ganymede
Subject: '69' Chapter 2

'69' by Ganymede

WARNING:

This story contains a graphic description of sexual acts
between a man and a MINOR boy. I do not condone child abuse,  how-
ever boy-love as described in this story is an entirely  different
matter. If the subject of man/boy sex 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! You have been
warned! Read at your own risk!

Any similarity to individuals, living or dead, is entirely accidental.

The story is copyrighted under the pseudonym, Ganymede. A copy
has been placed in the Nifty archives for your enjoyment. Feel free
to post it to appropriate newsgroups or send it to your friends. The
story cannot be used to derive monetary gain. It cannot be placed in
archives that require payment for access, or printed and distributed
in any form that requires payment.

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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 relationships aren't your
thing, then exit now and save yourself from a life of sin!


'69'  by Ganymede


Chapter 2. June 27th 1999


It's a strange feeling to have two checks for a hundred thousand
dollars in your pocket, when for the last couple of months there
was nothing in your wallet but credit card charges. The triumph
should have elevated my spirits. Instead, I wandered back to the
pits with a sense opf aimlessness, checking my watch every few
hundred feet, as if another minute would make all the difference.
I couldn't get my mind off the boy. 'Ty'. I thought about his
name, again and again. It was a name that suited him. It was a
simple, direct, monosyllable. It was him, his name. 'Ty'. A boy's
name. The perfect name for a boy like him. I played games with
that monosyllable as I walked. 'Ty one on'. 'All Ty-ed up'. 'Mai
Ty'. His name! Why was I surprised when it was so obvious? What
was his last name? I wanted it to be Atkins. He could be the son I
would never have. Having a son meant getting married and there was
no way in hell that was going to happen.

I stopped. I checked my watch for the twentieth time. Five past
five! I stared at my watch in disbelief. How was that possible?
The last time I had looked at my watch could not have been more
than a minute ago. The time had been,... what? I laughed aloud and
people stared at me, that overweight race car driver with the red
and black suit emblazoned with '69' and 'Grand Prix'. I began to
walk quickly, thinking of the five, nearly six minutes that passed
already from the time I was supposed to meet him in the pits.

He wasn't there. I felt like a flat tire, running on the rim,
going 'kersplat-kersplat'. I walked over to Bobbie and waved the
checks in his face.

"Fuckin' wonderful. You gonna pay us what you owe us," he laughed.
He did the arithmetic in his head. "One-hundred-and-three-fuckin'
thousand. It's enough to buy all the shit we need for the rest of
the season and put some rubber on the truck as well."

"How about my Firebird?" I demanded. "I'm lookin' at steel on two
tires already."

"Okay. So git yerself some new rubber, but don't go wastin' it,
Terry. There's some Michelins down at Sam's 'll do you just fine.
Oughta run about eighty-five apiece with tax."

I laughed. "It's a deal." I glanced around. "So where's ma biggest
fan, Bobbie?"

Bobbie laughed. "I was wonderin' how long 'fore ya asked, Terry.
He was waitin' 'round for ya, but he got bored."

"Damn!"

He laughed again and winked. "I let him sit in the sweat seat.
He's having the time of his life, I reckon. He's either dreamin'
'bout winnin' tha race, or he's up there jackin' off."

I glanced at the truck. They had loaded the Pontiac into the back
of the trailer already. All I could see was the trunk and the huge
tires at the rear. Bobbie gave me a friendly shove.

"Go have some yerself fun, Terry. Go talk with the kid fer a
while. You ought have a coupla minutes 'fore his momma comes
lookin' fer him."

"Nah, you guys need help cleaning up."

"Tha hell we do! You deserve some time off after what you done out
there today, Terry. Me and the guys'll finish up here fine and
meet you back at the motel. You wanna go eat out somewhere?"

I shook my head. "I need a shower and somethin' to eat before I
sack out. Pick me up some fried chicken and a six-pack."

I ambled off, trying my best not to rush up the ramp and into the
trailer. I even made myself turn around when I got to the top of
the ramp and look out over the pit area like I was interested in
what was happening. It was a hive of activity as teams dismantled
their equipment and got ready to pull out. It would be at least a
day or two before everything was gone. It was always kind of sad
after a race. It was a bit like a circus leaving town after a big
show.

I could see his head through the back window. He was hunched over
the wheel. He was making race car sounds, sounding more like a
clapped-out Formula One engine than a 700 horsepower Nascar
Chevy. The tire sounds were even less realistic, but you had to
give him points for trying. He was certainly getting into it.

I squeezed down the side, between the brightly polished paint on
the side of the car and the plywood wall of the trailer. I had my
head in the window before he even realized I was there.

"Hiya Ace," I said right in his ear.

I think he came close to losing a load in his shorts, but I
certainly got his attention. I don't think I've ever seen a kid
that surprised.

"Hey, hi Terry."

"Having fun?" I asked. "It goes a mite faster when the engine's
runnin'."

"Yeah, I know. Only Bobbie told me if I started it up, he'd have
my butt for breakfast."

"That sounds like Bobbie," I laughed. "I bet he said a tad more
than that."

"Yeah, he said a 'fuck' a coupla times too," he chortled. He had
no shame. he said 'fuck' like he had been saying it all his life.
No wonder I liked him right away.

"Hey Terry?"

"Yeah?"

"I figured out why Bobbie calls it the sweat seat. It's why it
really stinks in here. Ah cain't even smell tha gasoline."

I laughed. "It gets kinda hot right where yer sittin', Ace. After
a while yer soakin' in sweat. It stinks 'cause I stink, I reckon."

"I don't sweat much," he said in a matter-of-fact voice.

"Yer too young to sweat. Wait till yer balls drop," I grinned.
"You'll stink worse than me then."

He grinned right back at me, flashing his sexy blue eyes just like
one of the race babes who were still hanging around the pits
waiting to get laid. They all had the same look when they were
ready to breed. He might be a boy, and he probably had no idea
what he was playing with, but he was sending messages right to my
crotch. He was a free spirit, ready to take on the world and find
out what was there for him. I got an urge to talk dirty, just to
see what he did with it. A test to see if he was for show or go. I
let out a slow breath and tried to calm down. He was way too
young, even for me. He was one-hundred-percent jail bait.

"You got somewhere to go, Ace?" I asked absently.

"Nah! You wanna get rid of me?"

"Not particularly," I answered. "I gotta go get cleaned up
though."

He studied me, concentrating, furrowing his brow, trying to
figure something out.

"You pissed at me, or something?" he asked softly.

"Me? Nope! I'm just tired, and I'm hungrier than hell, and I stink
like a dead horse, but other than that I got no problem with
standin' here talkin' to you."

That made him laugh. His laughter was music. It made me like him
even more. His eyes flashed again, crinkling with merriment. He
was a boy who wasn't ashamed to have fun. He laughed because he
was having fun.

"That's all?" he finally managed to get out.

He deserved something for his time, for his laugh, for his
interest in me. I leaned through the window and reached over him,
pulled the gear stick into neutral, double checked it by waggling
the knob to the side. Still leaning over him, smelling him, aware
of him, so slender that he could blow away in a stiff breeze. I
cranked the engine. It caught on the second attempt, immediately
settling into a deep-throated gurgle. The suck of the Holley and
the sound of the exhaust was deafening.

He quivered with instant excitement, responding as any car-lover
would to the raw adrenaline-surging power of the machine. I
responded as any boy lover would, being that close to a 'drop-dead
gorgeous' boy. I got an erection, my hard-on sticking straight out
into my fireproof race suit with no where to go and no one to
fuck. I backed out of the cabin as fast as I could.

"Cool!" he shouted.

"Give it some gas, Ace," I shouted back.

He had to slide right down in the seat, so far that his butt was
in mid-air and he had to hold onto the steering wheel to keep his
ass off the grease-covered floor. He goosed the accelerator and
the engine roared. His eyes opened wide. Inside the trailer, the
noise was enough to give you a migraine. He backed off instantly
and scrambled back up into the seat, hanging onto the wheel to
keep his hands from shaking.

"Fuckin' hell," he said with awe.

I gave him a 'what-did-you-say' look and he grinned right back at
me. Not quite perfect teeth. He was missing a tooth, one of those
big back teeth that kids lose when they're about ten years old.
Even still, he had a lot of cute little baby teeth. I leaned in
again to switch off the engine. His breath smelled like hotdogs.
He slid out of the window the same way that stock-car drivers did.
I caught him in my arms, held him, turning him around. He must
have weighed all of seventy pounds. It was like carrying a five-
gallon container of gas, except there was no handle, and he clung
to me so that I had to carry him to the back of the car. I gave
him a playful hug and then eased him down so that he could stand
up. He was trembling.

"That was so fuckin' incredible," he gushed.

"You sure have a helluva mouth on ya, don't ya, Ace? I
guffawed.

He tilted his head, looked up at me through one bright-blue,
seemingly innocent eye, and winked. The top of his head barely
came up to my nipples. It would have reached my nipples if he was
standing straight. Instead, he was looking down towards his feet.
My eyes followed his. I didn't get to his feet. Goddamn if he
didn't have something sticking out into his shorts. I shouldn't
have been surprised. Unleashing 700 horsepower was about as
exciting as life could get for a ten-year-old track-rat. His
fingers pushed at it, trying to relocate it so it was not as
obvious. All he succeeded in doing was keeping my eyes riveted on
his crotch.

"Three inches? Yeah, right on," I joked. He scowled at me and held
up four fingers. "Maybe three inches hard,... if you're lucky," I
added boldly.

I started to walk down the ramp, leaving Ty standing by himself,
still trying to rearrange the blunt little bulge that had formed
in his shorts. Bobbie caught my eye and waved. I went over to him
and handed him the checks. I was glad to get rid of them.

"You probably know what to do with these better that I do," I
said. "Just don't forget the new rubber for tha Fire-turd."

"Sure, Terry. I'll see ya in Me-hi-co," Bobbie laughed. "What are
you going to do about him?" he added. "He said he got in here by
himself."

I followed his gaze to Ty. I shrugged. "Find out where he lives,
and take him home, I reckon. 's not safe for him to be hangin'
around perverts like you."

Bobbie laughed. "Who ya callin' a perv?" He nodded. "Cute kid,
though ain't he, Terry?"

"Yeah. Funny too. He sure got a foul mouth, though," I chuckled.

"And he ain't even close to shavin'. I'm surprised he's out by
himself."

Bobbie turned back to me. He didn't say anything as he regarded me
with narrowed eyes for almost as long as it took Ty to walk across
to join us.

"Just be careful, Terry," he said softly. "Some of them track rats
can run hot and cold. I seen some who could blow a piston or two
fer ya 'fore you know it. You oughta back off the gas a tad."

"Huh?"

He grinned at me and swatted Ty playfully on the rump before he
started back to help Terry and Pete load one of the tool chests.

"Hiya Ace," I said. "Just cain't get rid of yer, can I?"

Ty grinned. "Whatcha talkin' 'bout with Bobbie?"

"You," I said honestly.

"Me? Why?" Ty asked boldly.

"For one thing, Ty, kids ain't allowed in the pits."

"Did Bobbie go and tell ya that? My name, I mean."

"Yeah, he told me. How did you get in 'ere anyway?" I asked.

Ty grinned. "It ain't hard. I got past the gate guard when he was
talkin' to some babes."

I nodded thoughtfully. "You live 'round here?"

He shrugged and gave me a vacant look that suggested that where he
lived was none of my business. Which it wasn't, but there was no
way I was going to leave him in the pits by himself.

"You a runaway, ain't ya?" I asked testily.

"Nope!" He looked surprised that I had even suggested it.

I plunked my hand on his shoulder. "Look, Ace, I'll give you a
lift home if it ain't too far. Only problem is I really need a
shower and somethin' to eat. You need ta call someone first?"

"Nope! It's cool, Terry."

It wasn't that I didn't trust him. He was a track rat, and Bobbie
was right. With his looks and charm, he was more dangerous than a
rookie. At that moment, Ty gave me the sweetest smile, all teeth
and sparkling innocent eyes. Talk about being seduced by an
angel's face, even a grubby angel. He must have known I was having
doubts. I got beguiled in one second flat!

"Aw fuck," I said with an exasperated laugh. "Okay, come on. I'll
stop by tha motel and clean up a bit. I'll eat after I got you
back to ya mommy."

He followed me, puppy-style out to the pit parking area. More than
half of the cars had left, which only goes to show how few people
really needed to be there in the first place. My Firebird was
parked a couple of hundred yards away. It was a bright red '97
Trans Am T-roof with the dark grey leather power seats and 17 inch
wheels. Other than a six-speed manual transmission, and ram air
induction, the engine had very little in common with the Detroit
production model. Bobbie had taken it over and made some engine
mods that added a hundred plus horses at the rear wheels. It sang.

"Fuckin' awesome," Ty said admiringly.

"I'll take that as meanin' you like it," I chuckled.

"Hell yes! She stock or what?"

"Tha she's a he," I snapped. "And he's got one hot little mother
of n' engine under tha hood," I said with an unnecessary emphasis
on gender.

"Yeah?" Ty approached, reluctant to touch the paint like any auto-
fan who had respect for the machinery. "Whatchya done to it,
Terry?"

"He's got heads like you wouldn't believe. Ported and polished
just like a race car."

"Stock or after-market?"

I laughed. "Ace, trust me. The work Bobbie does is better than any
after-market crap you can buy. He worked the cams up and did a
bunch of other stuff during the off season. It's still street
legal, least till we get to California."

"Whydya say it's a he?"

"'cause he is. Tits don't belong on muscle cars. Keep the she's
for the Barbie cars."

"But dicks do?" Ty said gleefully.

"Depends on tha dick," I chuckled. "Some dicks do."

I opened the door for him and watched as he dropped his compact
little body down into the firm bucket seat. That little bugle
between his skinny brown legs was back to normal preteen boy size,
but to my eyes it bulged out like it was hiding something worth
seeing. I lifted off the roof above him and placed it behind his
seat. The sun made his dirty-blond hair glisten like yellow-gold
corn silk. He looked up at me and beamed. I was making his day
big-time. These were the kind of memories that a boy would
treasure into old age. And I was right there beside him in memory-
ville. This was one boy who I would remember for a long, long
time.

"You race it much?" Ty asked. He looked around inside, checking
out the dashboard and instruments while I went to the other side.
I slid down into my seat.

"Nope, but I can tell ya this is one bird that fuckin' screams
down the quarter."

"What'll she, I mean what'll he do?"

"In the mid twelves. I ran it around Talledaga last year and
pulled a one-seventy with another coupla hundred left on the
tach."

"Cool!" He sounded impressed.

"Try the seat-belt on for size, Ace," I reminded him.

He grinned at me. I heard his belt click before I started the
engine. It always took a couple of tries before it caught. The
exhaust was loud, vibrating in your ear-drums, gut-churning loud.
It wasn't as loud as the Grand Prix, but I still hoped it would
give him another erection.

I backed out of the space, engaged first gear and let the clutch
out just fast enough that the wheels spun briefly. What did I
care? Bobbie was getting new tires for the beast anyway. The roads
outside the track were busier than downtown at five p.m. I stopped
the car. There was a local cop supposedly directing traffic, but
doing his best to totally screw up the flow.

"You gotta girlfriend?" He had a sing-song voice sometimes.

I was startled, although I hid it well. I kept my eyes on the
traffic lights and the oncoming traffic, waiting for a chance to
get onto the main road and show the little prick-teaser what the
Firebird could do if I planted my foot. With luck I could scare
the crap out of the cop as well as Ty.

"Nope! How 'bout you?"

"Me?" Ty giggled. For the first time he sounded like a little boy.
He shook his head. "No way, Jose!"

"Yeah, I guess there ain't no point when all ya gots' three
inches to poke with," I laughed.

He grimaced. "You oughta know. It ain't what ya got, but what ya do
with it," he smirked, increasingly emboldened.

If I didn't know better, I would have sworn he was flirting with
me. It was time to change the subject, and quickly.

"How old are ya?"

"Ten 'n bit. You?"

"Me?"

"Yeah, you!"

"Fuckin' inquisitive little track-rat, ain't ya?"

I gave the car a dose of high octane and came off the clutch
quickly. The big wheels spun for a second or two before they
gripped on the black-top. The 'bird took off with a surge that
left your stomach ten feet behind. We were pulling a notch over
fifty before I backed off and shifted into fourth gear. The cop
had been turned the other way so he probably missed seeing my
plates, although there was no doubt that he heard the car
thundering down the road. I glanced at Ty. He was hot! His eyes
were wide and he was grinning.

"Hot!" he said, taking the word right out of my mouth.

"Yeah! Very hot!" I said with emphasis that was deserved. "So what
were we talkin' 'bout?" Turning to look at his 'drop-dead
gorgeous' face side on.

"How old ya were." He looked right at me and smiled, showing pure
white teeth that looked like they would never need braces.

"Uh huh. I remember."

"So?"

"Boy, I'm old enough to be yer daddy," I laughed. "I ought take
yer pants down and whip yer cute little ass till its red raw."

"If that's what turns ya on."

I laughed again, again glancing at him quickly to make sure that
he was kidding. He poked his tongue out at me. A little pink
tongue. When he kissed, he was going to tongue good! I winked at
him. He was having a kid's fun in an adult world.

"Have a guess?" I suggested.

"Um,... Thirty eight?" Ty answered teasingly.

"You knew already didn't ya, so why ask?" I said surprised.

"'cause."

He smirked at me, not volunteering to elaborate why he
had taken the trouble to find out how old I was. I wondered what
else he had discovered. I didn't have too long to wait.

"So why ain't ya married, Terry?"

"'cause I don't wanna be," I said flatly.

He thought about that for a few seconds and came back with a
little sly smirk that made me feel quite uncomfortable. It was as
if he understood exactly why I wasn't married. What was worse, he
knew it was redundant to say why. The only problem was that
unlike Bobbie, I didn't wear my inclinations around my neck.

One more block zipped by. There was the motel on the other side of
the street. It was a seedy, family-run joint. It was painted pale
blue and white. Rooms were $50 a night for race weekends, $60 if
you used both beds. It came with hot showers and parking space for
eighteen wheelers. You hoped the sheets were clean, but it was
almost guaranteed that you'd find a pubic hair or two. The big-
budget teams were on the other side of the track. They stayed in
national chain hotels, one room per person and suites for the
drivers and team managers. For sixty bucks a night, I shared a
room with Bobbie.

I pulled across the two lanes of oncoming traffic as soon as a
break opened up, and stopped in front of room 105. I switched off
the engine and the noise abruptly ended.

"You can wait out here if ya want, Ace," I said as I unfastened my
seat belt. "I need a shower somethin' awful, and tha room's a pig
sty."

Ty shrugged. "How long?"

"Ten minutes."

"I guess I'll come in fer a while. 's hot out 'ere."

With that, he opened the door and jumped out. I thought about
putting the roof sections back into the T-roof, but I didn't plan
on being in the room even for ten minutes.

Inside the motel room, the air was stale and damp-smelling, almost
despite the air conditioning that we had set to run when we left
earlier in the day. There was a lingering odor, of grease and
Bobbie, and the beers we had consumed the night before. At least
the beds were made up and the beer cans had disappeared from the
top of the television.

He walked across the room like he owned it, inspecting as he went.
He wrinkled his nose, his eyes still busy taking it all in.

"Smells pretty bad, don't it?" I chuckled. "You can always wait
outside."

He shrugged. "It ain't that bad!"

"Well, you watch the tv if you want," I offered. "I'm getting a
shower, Ace."

I opened my suitcase and searched through it until I found some
clean boxers and a tee-shirt. Ty ambled over to the cabinet where
the television was secured with a thick steel strap. He picked up
the remote and flicked at the buttons.

"That remote don't work by tha way," I said over my shoulder.

I glanced back from the bathroom doorway. He was rubbing at the
little bulge in his crotch with his right hand, not 'scratching an
itch', but something else that hinted at pleasuring himself. He
caught my eye and grinned just as I turned away. 'Hot' had just
been revised to 'incredibly HOT'. Was he sending the message that
I wanted to hear? The chance was about the same as me winning the
Daytona 500. I closed the bathroom door behind me, but not all
the way. There was nothing in the room of any value. The car keys
and my wallet were in my pocket. The funny thing was that I wasn't
worried about that. For some reason that was probably completely
illogical, I trusted him. So why did I leave the bathroom door
ajar a couple of inches? For the same reason that I hoped he was
rubbing his crotch. I was sending my own message, just in case.

I turned on the shower, expecting to wait forever for the water to
become hot. It had taken about five minutes that morning. I
undressed, dropping my clothes on the floor. I yawned. It had been
a very long day. Exhaustion was beginning to set in. The last
thing I wanted to do was get back in the Firebird and drive
halfway across town. I pulled back the grimy yellowed-plastic
shower curtain, tested the water. Lukewarm was better than ice-
cold. I closed the curtain and began to soap myself up. The water
was just becoming warm when the bathroom door opened further.

"Yeah?" I said abruptly.

"I need to use the can, Terry" Ty replied. "Ya mind?"

"Are we talkin' piss or shit?"

"I gotta pee somethin' awful."

"Okay."

I watched his head over the top of the curtain rail. He stopped in
front of the toilet. With the shower running, I could barely hear
anything. Talk about being exposed to temptation. He was about two
feet away from me with his dick hanging out. All I had to do was
stand on my tiptoes and look over the curtain. I heard the faint
sound of pee splattering in the bowl. I heard the soft sigh that
came from the immediate relief of pressure in the bladder. It made
no difference whether it was a man or boy, we all sighed.

"I bet that feels better," I laughed.

"Uh huh! I needed to go real bad."

I heard his final dribble, but not the sound of a zipper being
closed. I gave in to temptation. Any man would have in my
position. I smiled and looked down. he had turned away from the
toilet, towards me. He held his dick between the first finger and
thumb of each hand, shaking off the last few droplets. Like 99.9
percent of other white southern boys, he was circumcised. His dick
was blue on the end surrounded by a pink frilly collar. Not blue
like his eyes, but a hue of blue that made me think of something
cold rather than warm living human flesh. His eyes flashed at me,
then instantly grinning widely enough to bare his brilliant white
teeth. Other boys would have cupped a hand to cover their
privates, but not Ty. It looked like he was showing it off.

"I reckon I probably need a shower too," Ty said boldly.

I panicked. "I'll be done in a coupla minutes."

My answer was obviously not the answer that he wanted to hear. He
began to reach for his zipper, his face showing nothing but
distain. I turned away so I couldn't see him, couldn't feast my
eyes on that precious morsel of his boyhood. My heart was revved
up. I had the same adrenaline surge that came just before the
start of a race, that hand-shaking, gut-twisting thrill as
engines roared into life and tachometers swung into the red zones.