The following contains descriptions of graphic sexual acts between consenting teenage boys. It is a work of pure fiction and has no basis in the real world. Any similarities between people and places is just simple and plain coincidence. Do not read this story if you are under 18 or the legal age in your area; or, if it is just down right illegal to read this material where you live. And, don't go any further if you don't want to read about gay/bisexuals falling in love and having sex.
The author of this story retains copyright to this story and its characters. Reproducing this story for distribution without the author's explicit permission is a violation of that copyright.
My deepest apologies to all who have been reading this series for the long delay in continuing the strange adventures of these characters. A lot has been going on outside the story in the real world and it has taken me a while to refocus ideas and actually be able to sit down and get back to writing. Hope you enjoy this chapter and those still to come. The next three are definitely the darkest of the entire series. They are all apart of the flashback the central character, Taylor, is having. Thank you for reading.
Please, feel free to email me with your comments, questions, or just general thoughts for this story at email@example.com.
Strangers on a Train
by. J. A. Adkins
My parents weren't bad people. They were good people who tried too hard to lead peaceful, moral lives. They were aware of the real world and respected it. They also did their best to hide from it. They built a "fortress of solitude" out of a suburban home. It didn't help that they had given birth to a son whose starry-eyed visions of his own world battling with the red-lit landscape of his nightmares would bring reality crashing through the front door.
So things didn't start off bad. Like I mentioned before, we moved into the only real home I have ever known when I was seven. At that age, the first sight of our house was like seeing a castle. The two stories of smooth, white siding with a square, open-top balcony on the second floor above the red-brick stoop was a vision of safety. It was a place of warmth and comfort. A place of perfection. Within it nothing could go wrong.
At least at first.
Sexuality is a dangerous thing. It leads to fun things. Passionate things. Wonderful, spirit-lifting and life changing things. You can see absolute humanity in the sweat of orgasm because it is then that it is allowed to glow brightest and unconditionally. But, at the same time it can lead to dangerous things. Shadows that lurk in the soul can find fuel to ignite senses not ready to be played with. The skeletons in the closet of the mind are given flesh and find room to emerge. When it comes to sex, you're either flying or falling. Once you jump, you can't go back to the edge. I approached that edge within the next year of our big move.
The upper-middle class neighborhoods provided a melting pot of the truly un-original when it came to the local youth. All the boys were almost perfect doppelgangers of each other. Their haircuts were the same-with hair colors not far from each other either. Their clothes fit all of them the same way; mostly because they were bought from the same stores. When my mother started trying to mold me into the same image, I realized that this wasn't a personal choice the other kids had made. Not at first anyway.
The girls seemed to have just as less freedom; but it was easier for them to change-at an age when they wanted to be different from each other. But I didn't pay attention to them as much. I gained a few as friends. I even managed to keep one of them all the way until that fateful night. It was the boys, however, that I found most of my attention being drawn to. I didn't know why at first. But even my youth didn't protect me from that for very long.
I got my first look at another boy's dick when I was eight. It was summer and one of the local boys a few blocks up from my house was having a pool party for his birthday. On that hot June day my eyes were actually presented with a collage of prepubescent penises. Not just one but seven. The mother of the house decided that it would only be proper to have all the boys change in one room while the girls changed in another on the opposite side of a house twice the size of my own. Most of the fleshy extremities were only a few inches in length. The area of young, pale flesh around the soft nubs hanging between their legs was smooth and beautiful. The little pink sacks resting under the exposed, helmet-shaped tips held my gaze so tightly it made the other boys start to laugh when a few realized I was staring.
The teasing was relentless and cruel behind that closed door and only slackened slightly when we had our trunks on and were walking to the pool. It was mainly the five older boys who did the taunting. Those who thought at thirteen or fourteen they had the worldly experience of any man. It wasn't that I was the only one looking, but I was the only one drooling. I had wanted to reach out and touch each one of the little wrinkled dicks so badly. I wanted to squeeze the hairless sacks that hung a little ways below them and caress their even smoother asses.
It would be another another five years before I really got to enjoy or appreciate any of the new sights I had seen that summer day. My own birthday was three weeks away from the one I was attending. And it was on that day I felt the wind beyond the edge I was stepping to. That morning my sleepy eyes twinkled with the rising sunlight gleaming off the green steel frame of a brand new bicycle. Time passed in an unrecognizable flash between that moment standing near the dining room and when I was finally pedaling down the sidewalk for all I was worth. I'm convinced now I was trying to fly. The morning quickly became afternoon. The dream-like bands of corrugated sunlight reaching between the soft, green leaves overcrowding the low-branched trees made the beads of sweat on my arms and forehead glisten and dance.
For a long time I just made tight orbits around my house and block. But the curious adventures my young imagination knew lay beyond the borders of my nine year old world drew me gradually outward beyond my known borders. The green-painted steel body attached to wheels with silver spokes expanding dizzyingly from the center, and the soft, leather seat of my new bike were suddenly transformed into a magical creature. A dragon of such size, strength, and might the world hand never seen. And, that the invisible walls of fear and trepidation my parents had constructed in my mind could not stand up to.
With a deep breath and a beaming smile, I urged my monster on. My pedaling feet swam through the humid air but were motionless in my eyes. The ground was far below me, the sidewalk just a gray vein in the landscape of steel and concrete. I could go anywhere I wanted. My free-flight took me past the house I had been at just weeks before. It was the giant house with the always occupied pool. I paid no attention to the two fourteen year old boys standing in the driveway. I was too busy laughing. I was too busy having fun. I was too busy just being a kid.
A warm breeze brushed against my face. My dragon shifted its wings, rounding a new corner with perfect grace. Ahead I could already see the outline of rusting playground equipment being slowly swallowed by a labyrinth of vines and weeds. Tall grasses and villainous-looking shrubs covered the ground all the way to the thick tree line surrounding the forgotten jungle-gym on three sides. But at that moment the earth shook. The hot day on the street turned into a cool afternoon on a hillside in faraway land. The rusty poles and sagging, dented slides became the ruined remains of a stone castle all through my gleaming eyes. I was still a hundred yards away, imagining the ancient battle fought before the heavy stone walls and towers of the mighty castle when a noise behind me cracked open the world I had begun to secure myself in. I turned my head sharply to see the two older boys from the driveway racing on their own bikes toward me. Fire blazed in their own eyes. They soared over the pavement like blood-thirsty wraiths. They wanted flesh. I would be their meal.
It took little effort for them to catch up and then overtake me. They swooped down like birds of pray. I hit the edge of the playground and spun out, my dragon brought down. A part of me still saw this as just a game. Another part of me was afraid. I had felt the front wheel of one of their bikes brush my back tire as I had lost control. The freedom I had felt vanished as I toppled into the dry mud and brush. My legs and arms burned where new scratches had been dug into my skin from the ground and my bike. Laughter filled the quiet air of the empty lot. I rolled over as far as I could, my bike still laying partly across me. "What was that for?" I yelled boyishly.
"That?" said one of the boys, the leader of the two. He was the older brother of my friend. He was the one who had heckled me the most for staring at all the private parts that had surrounded me. "That," he said again, still laughing, "was just for kicks."
"Go away and leave me along," I said, weakly. I tried pushing my bike off my legs. My shoelaces were tangled around one of the pedals.
The two boys looked at each other silently before erupting into an even heavier fit of laughing. They mocked me with their voices. I watched them standing over their bikes, golden blonde hair shaved to only an inch or two glistening brightly in the sun. Their tanned, naked chests glowed. Each nipple seemed to stare at me like eyes from their smooth, hairless chests. My attention was suddenly fixed on them but my focus was lost someplace else. Someplace I didn't yet know and might never understand. So I didn't hear it when they're laughter began to fade and they caught me staring at them again.
"What's a matter, squirts? Can't get up?" the other boy asked.
The lead boy narrowed his sulky, green eyes at me. "Maybe he doesn't want to get up. Maybe he just wants to stare at us all day."
"That's sick," the other boy yelled.
"You saw how the little faggot went by my house, waving his ass at us."
"Yep. I sure did."
I glanced back and forth at them, getting worried. My heart thumped madly against my sweaty chest. The tone the lead boy had in his voice had sent chills down my spine. It sounded hungry, lustful, even anxious in a way I too would someday be.
"You know what that means?"
The other boy glanced at his friend, confused. "What?"
"What's next...is just for us."
With that he dropped his bike to the ground and charged forward. The fact that he walked instead of ran was all the more disheartening. He had known I wouldn't escape in time. For years afterward I even wondered if I had wanted to escape. Or, if I had instead secretly desired to sit there and await whatever he had in store. It wasn't until recently that I realized I was just scared.
He grabbed me by my shirt collar, dragging both myself and my bike across the hard dirt. "Grab his bike," the boy yelled over his shoulder to his friend. He had to yell. I was kicking and screaming as best I could. I had hoped someone would hear my cries for help. But no one ever did. The two and a half blocks of silence separated us from the rest of civilization.
I felt a tug at my feet and looked down from my captor to the other boy pulling back against my bike. My shoelaces were still tangled around the pedal. He yanked back as hard as he could. My shoe let go of my foot but stayed with the bike. The boy dragging me into the woods never even flinched while this was happening. A very small part of me marveled at his strength.
"What do I do with this," the other boy asked, holding his trophy.
"Bring it down here and toss it in the creek!"
"No!" I yelled, pleading with the boy still dragging me.
He didn't respond. Instead, he finally let go of my shirt-only to launch me me down the shallow hill towards the edge of the creek. I rolled and tumbled over upraised tree roots and thorn-lined bushes before coming to a sudden stop against the cool surface of a mossy boulder. My shoulder and back throbbed a white-hot pain where I had collided with the bulbous rock. My legs and arms bled from the network of scratches and abrasions suffered from the fall. I could almost feel each and every bruise that seemed to hum with pain.
The one who threw me made his way down the hill, stopping at my feet. Stars clouded my spinning vision. I tried to get up but he pushed me back down. I watched his friend walk past us with my new bike. Behind me, I heard the splash of the green steel breaking through the surface of the shallow channel of water. I tried to turn around, to see what I already knew had happened. But my captor yanked me to my feet, tearing loose the already stretched neckline of my tee-shirt.
"Don't sit down until I say so! Got it?" he barked.
I nodded, dumbly; too weak now to say anything to the contrary. He walked around me in a close circle, once and then twice; his eyes traveling up and down my trembling, bruised body. Then he stopped behind me. I felt him breathing against the back of my neck. His body was less than an inch away from my own. In between the back of my shorts I felt, what I thought was a rock, rub against my little butt. I didn't say anything. I only stood there, trembling.
"I know you want this," he whispered, his hot breath rushing against my earlobe. He thrust his pelvis against me at the same time, pushing the mound under his own shorts into back of mine, causing me to rock forward. He grabbed me by my shirt once more, stopping me from falling. Both of his sweaty hands were at either side of my torn collar. I could sense him smiling just behind me. He let his tongue tickle my neck before pulling with all his strength at my shirt, ripping it in half.
"Now strip!" he yelled, pushing me forward.
I turned to look at him, silently pleading with him through my eyes. He didn't notice. He was too busy charging at me again. All the pain in my body suddenly vanished, refocused itself, and then came back again twice as strong. He had launched his brick-like fist into my stomach. I couldn't scream. I couldn't even breathe. I tasted bitter acid and breakfast in my mouth; but, somehow, knew to swallow it back.
"Strip!" he yelled again, turning and smiling to his friend.
This time, I did as he said. With trembling fingers and silent sobs I removed my dirt stained sock from my shoe-less foot before the rest of my clothing. The lead boy smiled hungrily at my little nude figure. I could see a tiny circle of moisture on the front of his shorts at the top of the khaki mound. I just stood there, feeling the hot summer breeze caress my shaking form.
"Take his clothes," the boy said to his friend. "Dump them in the creek, too."
"No!" I yelled again, grabbing my shorts and underwear into a ball and holding them to me.
"But why?" his friend asked.
"Because we are going to teach this little faggot a lesson." He turned to the other boy. "Or do you want him to keep staring at you? Or to flirt with you? Or...more?"
The other boy narrowed his eyes but finally, reluctantly, shook his head in resignation. "No."
"I didn't think so. Besides, this is going to be fun." The lead boy grabbed his own crotch as he turned away from his friend. "And it'll feel good."
Then he looked at me. "For us, at least. Now take his clothes!"
The second boy nodded and started towards me. I backed up, a poor attempt to flee. I bumped into a tree, its rough surface scratching at my naked butt cheeks. "No! Please!" I yelled again as the second boy reached out for my clothes. I clutched them tighter. "No, please don't take-"
My words were cut off. The numbing pain in my stomach sailed into my jaw as I felt rock-hard knuckles crack against my cheek and chin. My arms fell limp to my sides as I pivoted dumbly around then fell, only half-conscious, to the ground. Stars and odd shaped clouds painted a cold, deep black ring around the edges of my vision. I could taste blood in my mouth...but only at first.
Time that afternoon passed in blurs that I can't break through completely. I remember the other boys being naked. Their mid-sized dicks were hard and hot. I felt them. I felt every part of their fourteen year old genitals. I tasted them. I tasted what they made. The essence of blood on my tongue was replaced by sperm. I can't recall every moment, every detail of every move. I just remember the sunlight, cracked and jaded as it poured through the tree-tops as I sucked off first one, then the other. I didn't know what I was doing or what they wanted. So they just shoved the warm rods of sweaty, sticky flesh as far down my throat as they could.
I remember the smell of the grass, and the feel of the boulder on my face. I had tried to focus on the smooth, dusty surface of the cold rock. Anything to prevent me from focusing on the pain from behind me. It felt as if my flesh were alive, burning under a fire hotter than the sun. The muscles cried out, torn and helpless under each heavy thrust and assault. I watched my bike in the water, disappearing briefly under the rippling surface and then reappearing again. I tried to imagine swimming in that water, or waters far away. But I only felt them fill me with their awful seed; first one and then the other.
I don't know how many times they fucked me. I don't know how many times they took from me what they had no right to steal. I don't know how many times a strange, dark part of me enjoyed it. A part of me that uncurled and was given life on that sunny afternoon. I just remember becoming aware of the emptiness inside of me. For the first time in what I knew where hours I was finally free of the blonde monkeys. But I just laid there near those rocks, letting the stillness of the old wood and the whisper of the shallow creek fill me with a peace I wouldn't be able to hold onto again.
I gazed at my bike, trying to see my dragon; waiting for it to wake up and rise out of the water. I wanted to see it lift me up and fly me away on its back to someplace safe, someplace far away from there. But it never did. Because it was never a dragon at all and never would be. I could only see my bike now. The world of my imagination had been torn open and would never be put right.
Eventually I found the strength to get up. My legs were weak and wobbled uncertainly with each step. The inside of my thighs were wet with the stale cream of their nuts and the blood of my well-popped cherry. I waded into the narrow creek, grabbing my shorts and underwear. Mindlessly I dressed back on shore, leaving my bike to rest forever in the creek and the torn rags of my shirt to dangle in the vines.
As I limped slowly home to a birthday party I didn't want to be a part of, my face and limbs bruised and stained red, I swore that I would never let myself return to that old playground. But there came a point where I went against even that. It would be a rainy night in the not too distant future.