Date: Tue, 15 Jan 2002 19:47:14 +0000 From: Java Biscuit Subject: willow, chapter eight This is a story involving teen/boy, adult/youth, male/male graphic sex and not intended for reading by minors. If you are underage, or this type of material is illegal where you live, please stop now, and go read something else! This is a completely fantasized story meant only for the purpose of pleasurable reading. It's not meant to encourage unsafe, unprotected sex, or to condone sex with minors. These people aint real. Feedback: javabiscuit@hotmail.com Willow ~ chapter eight by Biscuit Fucking Willow was like finding the Holy Grail. Getting fucked by Leon was like having sex while trying to take a huge dump. I know that some guys like that feeling; prostate going crazy, their asses stuffed and stretched around a big dick. For me it was like an iron man challenge that I hung in with, knowing I'd get off eventually. There was always a time in the midst of it when the discomfort leveled off and I'd get this all over bursting aroused feeling, like I was going to piss, shit and come, all at the same time. It was very intense to get off like that. But just for the sex, I'd never have done it. The destination was fine, but I didn't enjoy the ride. Of what was good about it, there was the charge I got out of how much Leon loved it. He was so into it, so turned on, that I got hot, like a contact high. He was grateful, and he made me feel like I was doing something so good for him, that I never turned him down. Plus, to be honest, I didn't want him to even think about fucking Willow. He must have thought about it. But he didn't do it. That's what Willow told me, and I believed him. Willow was a virgin, in the sense that no one had actually fucked his ass. But the word didn't have a lot of meaning in terms of what had been done to him. That was the summer that I'd learn about some of those things. The walls were coming down. My dick was no monster like Leon's, but still, it was a healthy six inch cock and I worried about hurting Willow, like Leon hurt me. On the other hand, Willow wasn't the kind of kid to do a blessed thing he didn't want, at least with me, so when he wanted me to fuck him, I hesitated about as long as it took to roll a rubber on. Almost as good as being inside him, was finally being allowed to hold him. Wrapping my arms around him, with my dick buried in his warm backside was better than anything I'd ever felt in my life. We used to do it on our sides, him with his head on my arm and my other hand free to roam over him. It amazed me how much he liked it. His cock would be as stiff as a wooden peg and it seemed like he could keep coming, like a girl, more than once. We spent a lot more time talking that summer than we ever had before. At fifteen, Willow found me either trustworthy enough, or grown up enough, to open up to. He began to tell me things about Oliver, among other things. Stories that sometimes made me feel like my mom must have felt when she thought of my grandfather touching me, as if I wanted to find him and hurt him. Only, unlike her, I'm sure, I also got aroused by those stories at times, even when they made me feel bad. I remember trying to hide that I was getting turned on and Willow getting impatient with me. We were inside, in the cottage, on a day that any sane boys would have been at the beach. But it was a day we had to ourselves and neither one of us wanted to go further than that unmade bed where we'd been since Leon left us alone together. It wasn't just to have sex that we wanted to be there. It was to be alone together. To talk without being overheard by anyone. Willow's hair had grown in from the summer before. Still short but not shaved, with a top knot of hair like a cockscomb. Most of his stories were told after fucking and sometimes I'd play with that long lock of hair while I listened. He'd curl up next to me to talk. When he told me stories, he liked to look at me, or be touching me, have me touch him. Looking back, I think it was a grounding thing, rooting himself in the present while he wandered through his past. "A lot of men like dog games," he told me that day. "Not just him. I had little collars for parties. One of them was black, with red stones. I had a gold one, and a red one with studs on it." Looking at him, warm and fucked looking, lying in the tangled white sheets, his skin seeming more brown than ever from the sun, I pictured him with a small dog's collar around his neck and my dick stirred. "I had a pillow to sit on, until he'd call to me, or signal me. Different signals," he sighed, his dark fingers plucking at the sheet between us. Then he lifted his hand and pointed one finger down. "That meant to come to him and sit in the first position. Up on my heels with my hands up, and my knees open. Mostly, though, at the parties, what he wanted was for me to go around to the different men and show off what he'd taught me. I'd sit up on my heels between their legs and lick them. They liked it when I'd hug their legs and rub my cock on them." That was when I tried to twitch the sheet up a little to hide that I was getting hard. Of course he saw it. "Don't do that" he said, tugging the sheet away. "Sorry," I said, not knowing what else to say. My cock had its own idea about Willow humping a guy's leg and it was liking it. Sick. "So what if it turns you on?" he said, like he was mad at me, but not for getting a hardon. "It turned me on. You think I didn't like doing those things?" "I don't know," I said, and couldn't tell what was making him mad. I almost flinched when he put his hand down and curled his fingers around my cock. "I was proud of myself," he said. The stern look on his face was so confusing. My usual tack, silence, was my refuge. So ill-equipped, I was so ill-equipped to respond. What I'd thought he wanted from me, telling those stories, was sympathy, but it wasn't. He knew his childhood shocked me, but it was his. The more calmly I took what he told, I'd learn, the better. My silence was enough to make him relax again, and his small hand stayed on me, holding my nervous dick. "Sometimes it was scary," he said, "like with the real dog." He looked away from my face, down to my hard flesh in his hand. "A little Lhasa, like a mop. I think it was as freaked out as I was. I didn't know it then, but I think so now. It got excited and I got scared. It started humping me, but it never got inside me. Poor dog. Oliver wanted me to see how a real dog humped when it got aroused. Everything was a lesson." Willow the soldier, Willow the student, that's how he saw those things. To me, it seemed like he'd been used as a pet or a sex toy. To Willow, it was just his life. Filled with lessons and training and drills. His notion of himself as a soldier came from Oliver. He lectured him on discipline and honor in performing tasks correctly. Willow studied music, and dance, and of course, how to manipulate a man to orgasm using his hands and his mouth. And reading, which he adored although what he read was strictly supervised and mostly pornographic. Willow remembered nothing before Oliver. The man told him nothing about where he'd come from or how he'd come to have him. He'd woven a lot of different theories for himself, but didn't really believe in any of them. He liked to look at pictures of Chinese people which is why Leon had bought him so many books about China. We looked through them together, sometimes, searching for faces that resembled his, like looking for clues about where he came from. I would also find out that summer that part of the reason Willow took an instant dislike to Manny Whaite, was that he reminded him of Oliver. "Oliver didn't look like him, not really. But he was like a lot like your grandfather, looking around and seeing everything as his. His boat, his grandson, his whatever that guy was, fisherman. And I could tell he didn't want me there." The great event of Willow's life, was the night that Leon took him. Leon was everything that his Daddy Oliver wasn't. Silly. Big. And bountifully affectionate. He was a regular, for a short time, at the poker games that Oliver hosted. Gambling was another of Oliver's passions, and parties. "He didn't like Leon," Willow told me, "but he invited him because Leon always had drugs and he was a very good card player, and of course, he liked boys." Leon had a boyfriend then, according to Willow, almost too old for that group. He was fourteen, a kid who still lived with one of Oliver's friends who took care of him even though he wasn't sexually attracted to him anymore. The boy hung around the beaches outside the hotels. That's where he met Leon, and word spread. That kid's name was Jeremy. Anyway, that's how Leon got to be invited the first time. After that, even though Jeremy wasn't with him anymore, he got asked back because Oliver loved to win against him. It drove him crazy, Willow said, how often Leon won. Oliver thought Leon was stupid, everybody did, just like I thought he was. But I guess nobody could tell when Leon had good cards or not, he was always the same, Willow said. He'd boast about how great his hand was, or moan, and was so comical that no one could read him. The stories took me to a world I could hardly imagine. As exotic and fascinating as Willow himself. I'd gotten fond of Leon, but seeing him through Willow's eyes I understood so much better, what he meant to him. I picture little Willow, naked under a grand table where naked men are playing cards. Scampering from one man to another pretending to be a playful dog. Most of them just spread their legs wider, maybe sink a little in their chairs when he sniffs at their dicks and starts to lick them. He told me that Leon's huge legs and cock were the biggest he'd ever seen. Telling me the story, the same day he'd scolded me for trying to hide my dick, he played with it while he was talking. Not trying to make me come, not for awhile anyway, just keeping it in his warm fingers. It was almost like a dream to be in bed for so long, listening to him. The cottage was hot. Just a table fan going, swinging back and forth to move the hot air. "Leon was the only one who ever reached down and grabbed me. He was laughing and he pulled me out from under the table. 'Let me get a look at this mutt' he said, holding me up in the air." He'd put Willow in his lap, fussing over him, telling him he might be a puppy but he sure as fuck wasn't a dog. He'd held him long enough to start pissing off the other players who were waiting for him to ante up. And Oliver, most of all, who didn't like the guests to take any initiative in touching Willow. "Leon was so bad. And I loved how bad he was, even though it made me nervous. Nobody else got away with what he did. Nobody even tried." Willow started looking forward to those card games just to see Leon, the only man he'd ever encountered who openly defied Oliver. And he started to devise special caresses, just for him. "I wanted him to know I liked him, even if I couldn't say it or show it where Oliver could see me. I wasn't supposed to use my hands, but with Leon I would cheat and pull that big shaft of his down and put my whole mouth on it instead of just licking him. He never game me away. It was the only way I could think of to show him I liked him." Willow stopped, his hand which had gotten still on my cock, starting moving slowly, his black eyes burning into mine. "That's the only way I knew how." Was he telling me it was the same with me? Is that why he'd done those things to me the first summer? Why he was doing them now? "Like with me?" His feathery brows went up. "You?" he said, eyes widening. "Boy are you dumb," he said, but he was starting to smile and the pads of his fingertips played a tattoo on the underside of my cock that made me groan. Then he let go of it, and he turned on his back, his knees bending up slowly. "Put that stupid face between my legs," he said. He was so amused, and aroused! I saw his cock was swollen up to its, by then, proud three inches of suckable wood. His tanned skin was brown, but the vague triangle around his cock was a coppery tea with milk color. "Why am I dumb?" I wasn't insulted, not really insulted, how could I be with him smiling at me and spreading his legs? I turned around in the sweaty wrinkly sheets, my hand already reaching for his cock, but looking at him to explain himself. "You think I see you, like I see Leon," he laughed, "Daddy Tom." I wanted him to, that much was for sure, most of the time. I wanted him to see me as a man. To take Leon's place as the person he fussed over, who always got his attention first. But his cock was right there, rising up from his sweat damp crotch, smelling of sex and making my mouth water. However the hell he was seeing me, it had to be in a good way, or he wouldn't be waving that chubby sprout under my nose. I didn't push for any more explanation. I'd get one later and in the meantime I'd have my way with his body. I sucked him slowly, to show him I wasn't so dumb, wanting to erase every other hand and mouth that had ever touched him before me. The explanation that he finally gave me, about my stupidity, turned my idea of our history together upside down. That was when I learned that Willow saw me as another kind of creature altogether from the men he'd known. A boy. An indulgence, a luxury he couldn't afford, wasn't old enough to claim. He told me he'd thought I was the cutest boy he'd ever seen, the very first morning I'd picked him up from the sand. "I wanted to be a daddy," he laughed at me, "and have you for my boy. I wanted to die when your dog knocked me over and you saw my fear, and how small I was." Little by little, he'd let himself have me. Like the soldier he was, in disciplined measures. All that time that he didn't let me touch him, he was trying to be a like some ideal daddy to me! Asking nothing for himself. And always Leon behind him, urging him to give in, to be my friend, not to take it all so seriously. Oh God, Daddy Willow!