Date: Fri, 29 Jul 2011 13:52:54 -0400
From: Sean Williams <williamscold@gmail.com>
Subject: Dean's Getaway Chapter 2

	I never got into stealing cars; that's big time shit right there.
Kids from my neighborhood that got into that, I never saw them again.  But
the first thing I did when I walked out of the motel office was scan the
parking lot, checking out all the cars.  There was a blue Mercedes
convertible straddling two parking spots in the back of the lot, a white
Dodge Durango in the front, and a beat-up and rusted black Cadillac close
to the office door: that one probably belonged to the manager.

	Sitting on the hood of the blue Mercedes was Dean.  He looked at me
as I walked out of the motel office and came over to him.  The sun would be
setting soon, but it was still pretty bright out and Dean had a hand up
against his forehead, keeping the sun away from his big brown eyes.  We had
been on our feet the whole day and Dean was already getting a brown tan.
How we managed to hitchhike on a state road away from a county jail and not
get picked up again by the cops is a tale for a different day.  Actually,
it's not much of a tale.  Stupid cops, stupid sheriff, and more stupid
cops.  Pretty simple.  So here I was, a repeat offender who would
definitely get a third charge if I got picked up by the cops again, with a
kid just a few months above being a teenager sitting with his tanned legs
wide apart on the hood of some yuppie tourist's sports car.  God, I wanted
to fuck him right there.

	"What about this one?" Dean asked, tapping the hood of the Mercedes
when I came within hearing distance.

	"Get off the car."

	"We need a ride, right?"

	"Maybe, but not this ride."

	Dean shrugged and I put my arms under his pits and helped him down
from the car.  "There," I said.  I showed him the key and I nodded for him
to follow me to the room.

	"You sure we shouldn't get that one?" Dean asked.

	"A life of crime is not for you, kiddo," I said.  "Stealing the
only blue Mercedes in the county is probably the worst thing we could do
right now.  We might as well take the manager's Cadillac' that's sure to
break down before we even cross state lines."

	Dean shrugged and we kept walking.

	Our eyes met a couple times as we made the long walk from the
office to our room, in the back of the motel.  That's where they keep the
suspicious types.  Far away from the people that work there.  The last time
Dean and my eyes met before we reached the room, I relived through Dean
what had happened in the last 24 hours: the getaway, his getaway.  But as
soon as it was there, it was gone.

	Milliseconds.

	"Is it the Presidential suite?" Dean asked as we walked up the
external steps to our room.  "You know, for VIPs."

	I didn't answer him, but when I pushed the door into the room open,
we both saw the ratty single bed in the center of the room.

	Dean sighed, but he didn't say anything, so I spoke: "This was all
they had, buddy.  Only rooms available were singles."

	Dean nodded and plopped himself face down in the bed with a plunge.
Like he was jumping into a new life.  A couple days on the run with me.  He
feigned sleep, so I sat on the edge of the bed and turned on the TV.  There
were all of four channels available.  This is what you call living in style
in the fucking desert.  The only thing that would make it complete would be
an Indian transsexual hustling for paper below your window as soon as the
sun went down.

	Chola makeup.

	Sun burnt man tits in a push-up bra.

	Backne.

	Sexy voice: "$20 bucks for head.  $40 to cum in my mouth"

	Wide ass in hot pants.

	Tramp stamp, usually.

	Dean turned over and his shirt pulled up, giving me a view of a
brown treasure trail leading down to his cock and balls, and his six-pack.
He didn't need to get me riled up, because I was already there.  My dick
had been hard the two hour ride from where the truck driver picked us up,
to the motel where he dropped us off.  "Our car broke down over by..." Dean
had begun, after trucker Bill (he never told us his name) started driving
again once we were in the car.

	"I don't wanna know," said Bill, shifting the car into second gear.
"I don't ask any questions, so I won't have anything to say when the
sheriff picks you guys up later."

	"It's not like that," I lied.

	"I don't care," Bill had said then.

	"Watcha watching?" asked Dean, sitting up in bed and turning his
cap backwards again.

	"I thought you were asleep."

	"I was just pretending."

	"Why?"

	"I figured you might wanna watch me sleep," said Dean.  "I
thought... I thought you might..."

	I sighed.  I grabbed the remote that I had set down a minute or two
before and turned to the news.  I fucking hate the news:

	"Breaking Report!  Two deadbeats cudgel a guard, steal his key, and
use an old maintenance door to escape from local jail!  Stay tuned for
further news!"

	That's what I lived out in my head; they hadn't actually reported
us on the news yet.

	"Two horny men on the loose," I said aloud.

	"What did you say, Dave?"

	"What the fuck am I saying?  Don't listen to me, Dean.  Just go
back to sleep."

	"I wasn't sleeping."

	"Then go back to pretending to sleep."

	Dean took off his shirt and laid down flat again, face down.  When
I knew his eyes were closed, I stole a few peaks and, yeah, Dean was pretty
lean, almost skinny, but his back was striated and I could see every inch
of his lats as if I was inspecting a 19th century anatomists diagram of the
muscles of the back.  I imagined what it would feel like to lay on top of
Dean, pin him to the bed; I wouldn't take his pants down completely, but
just pull them down enough to get my dick in.  I would rest my right
forearm on the back of his neck, keeping his face down, keeping him quiet.
With him like that, I would fuck him.  Fuck him hard until he squealed.

	But I took off my shirt, too, and I crawled in bed beside Dean.  I
pulled off his sneakers and put the cover over him; I slept on top of the
covers.  Big brother, little brother style.

	When I woke up a few hours later, Dean was in a half-reclining
position, leaning on his right arm.  He was watching me; staring at me.

	"What?" I asked.

	"Nothing."

	Dean's shirt was still off and he took off his socks, and then
pulled down his shorts.  After that, he stood up and turned around so I
could see the back view as he pulled down his boxer shorts.  He had a tight
little ass that was accentuated because most of the rest of his body was
brown from the blinding desert sun.  When he was completely undressed, Dean
got back in the bed (on top of the covers where I was) and laid on his
back.  With the front side of his body face up and exposed, I could see
what Dean was working with.  His dick was semi-hard and bigger than I was
expecting since he was a slim kid.  I placed my body on top of Dean's (my
cock and balls rubbed against his) and he put his arms around me, hugging
and rubbing my lower back.

	I pushed Dean's legs back to get access to his hole, and then I
positioned the head of my cock right at his anus.  Dean closed his eyes and
leaned completely back.  His breaths jumped from regular to a soft, excited
pant.  As I pushed his legs back further, Dean squinted his eyes closed.
The head of my dick touched his hole.

	"Ah," moaned Dean.

	He looked so scared.

	I lowered his legs down to the bed and I rolled off, back to a
position next to him in the bed.

	"What?" he asked.

	I laughed.  "Just forget about it," I said.  "We don't have to do
anything, ok?"

	"Did I do anything wrong?"

	"No, baby," I said.  "Just go to sleep."

	But he didn't sleep.  Dean and I laid there naked, with my arm
around him staring up at the peeling yellow paint on the wall.

	"I can't believe we got out," he said.

	"I can," I said, "but I know how you must feel.  Don't worry about
it."

	"I kinda blacked out for most of it.  I was just following your
lead.  Do you remember what happened?"

	"Yeah I do."

	Dean nodded and rested his head against my hairy chest.


	[TO BE CONTINUED]

	[Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and please do not read if it
is illegal to read this sort of material in your state, province, country,
or territory.  I have written other stories you can check out entitled
"Wrestlers Love The Kamikaze Shack", "Ben Leaves Bareacres Ranch", and
"Screwing the President", among others.  This is a different sort of story
for me, and I will respond to all comments.  You can e-mail me at the
address above or visit me at my horrible culture blog:
http://www.robotsinmasquerade.com.  Thanks, guys.]