Date: Sun, 21 Jun 1998 23:30:56 PDT From: Graham Day Subject: Cucumber Salad Cucumber Salad by Graham Day Story Code/s: T/t t/b (young-friends/incest) Comments/suggestions to: g_day@hotmail.com NOTES & WARNINGS: This story may contain descriptions of sexual acts between boys and/or men and boys. If this is not to your tastes, please leave now. If you are under 18, or if it is illegal in your state or country to read or possess material like this then it is in your own interest's to leave now. The story is copyrighted by the author. A single copy has been placed in the Nifty archives for your enjoyment. Please do not distribute it to any news groups and/or other web-sites without permission of the author. You may, however, send it to your friend s as long as payment is neither requested or received. This story is fiction. Any resemblance to any individual, real or fictional, living or dead is purely coincidental My apologies to all Portuguese readers that the special symbols have been deleted. I hope it is still readable. If you have any feedback you can e-mail your constructive comments to me at g_day@hotmail.com ******************* Cucumber Salad -Part 1- by Graham Day Dedicated to Ozdude, the best buddy a 16 year old boner ever had. So there I was, looking at all this stuff I had to get sorted into three groups: one lot for the trash can; another - my little kid's stuff - for the local orphanage; and the rest for dad to ship back home to the Upper East Side apartment. This presented a problem: I could spend like a whole day just thinking about what to do with my stuff. I mean, take my teddy: at thirteen-and-a-half it ain't cool to have a teddy no more - but is it cool to pack your best buddy off to some crummy orphanage, where you know the kids are gonna rip his head off in a scramble to get him? Then there is Action Man. Man, the hours we spent together! "Say, Joe, what say you and me go fuck Barbie?" "No way, man, Ken's back in town." "So I guess we better just jack off?" G. I. Joe would slip his hand into Action Man's battle fatigues. Yeah, we had some good times my buddies and me. Fatima was clattering around the kitchen making lunch. At this rate it was gonna be after siesta-shutdown time before I got cardboard crates for this stuff - major crisis stared me in the face. Dad, who was still in this foul mood about the alimony, told me to clear out my room and if it wasn't done by nightfall, he'd confiscate my Game Boy and the Walk-man. As sure as eggs are ovos he'd do it too! This was seriously mean - how could he expect anyone to fly Lisbon to NYC nonstop with no Bon Jovi and no gobble games? What is a dude to do - cut his throat with the plastic airline cutlery and bleed in the sick bag? So on my last day, do I hang out with the guys from the American school? Do I take the line 28 tram to rattle along the miradouro de Santa Luzia through the narrow curving lanes of the Calacada to the Largo da Graca? Do I enjoy the old white city for one last time? No way! I sat there contemplating Dad's instructions and a room full of four year's mess. I had this seriously weird family - Dad was this vice-president responsible for overseas development, so we kinda had two homes: one in New York and one, well, wherever. We were always moving on. The dudes at the American school thought this was cool, but like, you never knew where your stuff was. I mean when you want something it was always at the other place. This could be a serious bummer. Just before 13:00hrs, when they shut up shop for the meio-dia, I squeezed into the Loja de Verduras e Frutas around the block from Dad's apartment on the Rua 25 Abril - man, everything in Lisbon seems to be called April 25, the day in 1974 that ended 50 years of dictatorship. Fatima, or housekeeper, had been sending me to the Pinto family's greengrocer for things since we arrived in Lisbon four years earlier. The old boy prided himself on quality - not a lettuce with leather edges in the place. Whenever I enter the little shop, colorful with the fruits of the Mediterranean, old Sr. Pinto's played out this little ritual - he would call Jose from the small office at the back, where he might be doing his homework or working on the accounts, to serve me. I think old man Pinto had trouble understanding my New York-accented-Portuguese. The seductive language is a tongue-twister of nasal n's and m's and 'sush'-sounding s'es, which don't mix too well with NYC-speak. "Boa tarde, Sr. O'Toole. Como vai?" Unlike his exuberant brothers, he was soft-spoken and seldom smiled. It was real odd that Jose always addressed me as Senhor, 'cause I was like three years younger than him. "Hi, Jose," He quickly averted his eyes and turned his attention to a bunch of grapes. "Deseja alguma coisa?" Closely examining a radish, he asked how he could help me. "I've got something special to ask you today..." I explained how I needed some cardboard-crates. Phil Collins was singing softly on the radio at his father's elbow on the counter. Coarse hair burst, like a coir from a mattress, from the gaps in Mister Pinto's check shirt. Jose also had tufts of silky black hair sticking out from his T-shirt, but that is where the family resemblance ended - he was tall, almost pale and slender while his dad and the other two boys were swarthy and short, with round handsome faces. The Portuguese were a cocktail - they were this interesting mixture of part Roman, part spade, part Spanish and god knows what else. "Well, can you help?" "I'm sorry, Sr. O'Toole, we got rid of all the boxes this morning. Maybe I can save some for you over the next few days and you can come by next, Saturday?" Was it my imagination or was he only nervous when I came by? I'd never seen him like this with Fatima or other customers. So I spilled the whole story: how '83 would go down as the year my world collapsed; how the divorce was final; and how I would be flying stateside the next day to live with my crazy mom. "Para alem do Tejo ha America - E a fortuna daqueles que e encontram." It was poetry Sr. Pinto was reciting, - America and its opportunities waited beyond the river Tejo. Yeah, I thought, the exploration of the new world started here centuries ago. The old boy told Jose that he was off to lunch with his sister and shut-up the shop on his way out. Phil Collins sang: "You can't, hurry love ..." "I am sorry to hear you are going Sr. O'Toole." I'd noticed he had two very strange habits: he would either avoid looking at me at all - or he would close his eyes, then turn his face to me, then slowly part his long dark lashes - like he took pleasure from finding me there in front of him, when he'd opened his peepers again. He did the second thing. He looked at me with his dreamy-sad, hazelnut peepers and said: "Maybe I can help you with the boxes, we might have some at home." "Is that far? I gotta have them today." "Well, we live above the shop." His hands were strong and his long fingers were now straightening a pile of oranges. Jose was tall for a Portuguese boy. I'd watched him grow from a skinny, acne-faced thirteen-year-old into a tall, good-looking dude: seventeen; slim waist; well-developed arms and shoulders; shoulder-length black hair. "Oh cool! Can I come up and get them?" We had practically been neighbors for four years but I'd never known they lived above the shop. I thought Jose and his two brothers were neat and I would have liked to hang out with them but I was kinda embarrassed. T he reason? Angela, my Mother! Well, I guess I'd better tell you about it - Angela was seriously into all this New Age shit. This had been one of the reasons the folks busted up. Anyway, I was kinda relieved that it happened, 'cause I got sick of these three-way conversations: "Tell your mother that...." Or "If your father was a cosmically aware individual he wouldn't be so afraid of his Yin Yang polarities." You get the idea? "Your mother is seriously weird, a dog shouldn't have to live with her." This was pretty rich from the Executive vice-president responsible for Showing Confusion and Uprooting the Family Every Few Years. Personally, I thought she'd be okay, in a New Age kinda way, when she got her Chakras balanced and decided if she was a Zen Buddhist of a Druidic Handmaiden. "She's got enough money to buy an entire new set of those shackle-things." Money was a real sore point with dad: "She is the first Gucci Hippie in the world." This probably made him the world's first American Express Gypsy, but I let it go. All she wanted was a simple life: but she also wanted lots of money. So she got the apartment in Manhattan and a fat wad of cash every month. Dad was off to Brussels and I settled on NYC for a spell. When I couldn't stand yoghurt and yoga for breakfast any more, then I'd give Belgium a chance. But, I'm getting off the subject- we were talking about Angela and the Loja de Verduras e Frutas. She would come into the shop to buy fruit - she is of course a total vegan, that's like a radical vegetarian - and she would run her hand over the stock to pick up vibes. I mean there is this loony-toons in a caftan, her hand hovering over the carrots waiting for some dumb bunch of carrots to choose her! To make my death sentence complete, she would give Jose, his little brother, Joao, or his older brother, Carlos, this running English commentary. Get a life, old girl! Jose, and I went out the back of the shop. Locking the back door, he led me into a small sunny courtyard. I'd never seen no Mrs. Pinto, so I asked him about her. "No mama, no sisters - only papa and us three boys. We all take turns cooking and cleaning for papa, but Carlos is getting married soon, so his wife will help." Complaining about the heat, he started to pull off his T-shirt and tucked it into the waistband of his running-suit pants - the Lisbon spring could be impossibly hot. I found his strong pectoral muscles keenly interesting and my eyes followed the promising line of dark hair that pointed down to an unmistakable bulge where his man's dick hung. Look, don't get me wrong. Jeeze, I ain't no queer or nothing, but sometimes, a guy just got interested in a little comparative research. His little brother, wearing only these little dirty-white shorts, was busy fitting the chain back on the rusty old bike I had seen him use for deliveries. "Ola, Senhor O'Toole, Como esta?" Joao has always been a nice kid, I reckon he must be about eleven or twelve back then. "Mutio bem, obrigado." I replied. I saw the kid whisper something to Jose, in rapid-fire Portuguese. He cuffed the kid's head and told him to go fuck chickens. This sent the boy clucking around the small yard like a galinha. "Hey, what did he say?" Jose, shrugged his shoulders. "Say, why don't you both call me by my first name all this Senhor shit makes me feel like I'm real old." At my elbow the galinha squawked his agreement, pecking at my shirt sleeve. This dude was kinda cute. "Como se chama?" "Liberty." Yeah, it's embarrassing, but at least it's not Dewdrop or Rain-cloud or one of the other shitty nature names Angela had lined up for me. I reckon Liberty was just about the last thing they ever agreed on- it reminded her of hippie style freedom and him of his favorite Western. Then for the first time Jose smiled at me. Now you gotta understand, this puberty shit makes it hell being thirteen-and-a-half. I mean you get hair in places that were previously smooth; your voice changes pitch like a steam-kettle; and your hormones give you all sorts of shitty, uncontrollable, feelings. Like that time I had a date with Betty Alexander, to see E.T. - the Extra Terrestrial. Well, to be honest, she only found out afterwards that it was supposed to be a date - it was just eight guys and girls from the American school, we sat boy-girl -boy-girl, not touching or nothing. Just after lanky-neck E.T. dies, and I'm discretely wiping away a tear and I felt Betty's breath on my ear and she whispered: "Oh Liberty, I just realized, how much you look like Elliot's older brother." Her hand stroked my thatch of red-blond curls. "Ah, you are so sensitive." What is a guy to do in a situation like that? For the first time in my life, I don't have a reply. My f ace went blood-scarlet, my lung capacity suddenly halved, I was breathing real shallow, my belly tightened up and I could feel I was cracking a boner. Well, the same thing happened to me there in the courtyard - smelling Jose's real-man smell next to me an d watching this cute golden-brown kid, all hot from the sun, clucking like a crazy rooster. One minute I wanted to grope inside Betty Alexander's training bra, and the next I'm seriously interested in what kinda equipment a real big guy has. Like I said, I 'm not gay or nothing, but have to admit Jose did stuff to me. I got these like- feelings - I had called them my 'Jose feelings' and that, somehow, made them okay. "Hey Liberty, you coming up?" He led the way up the stairs to this like really tiny two-roomed flat. The dinning room, kitchen and lounge were all one room and had a single bed in it - this had to be the old boy's, judging from the bible texts and the faded wedding photo. The tiny bedroom held two bunk-beds. A radio was playing Abba - Agnetha Falkskog's telling the whole of Portugal about the 'Day Before You came.' The three brothers shared this tiny room, above the upper beds posters - motorbikes and Bruce Lee with scratch marks on his chest and shelves holding stuff. I felt really shitty about having made such a big deal to dad about how small our Lisbon apartment had been. "Take a seat on one of the beds, Liberty, I'll get your boxes. Say, it's lunch-time. Joao is making something, will you have some cool wine and eat with us?" "Yeah, great, I could eat a horse." I was glad to sit down, my bloody erection would not subside. Jose shouted out something to his brother as he left to look for the boxes. I sat on the bed, my foot booted something and it rolled out. It was a long thick cucumber! Thinking this was an odd place to store stock, I picked it up. Then I noticed that I could still see my fingerprints on its shiny surfaced. I held it closer to my eyes to inspect it. There was some type of grease on it. I held it to my nose, Vaseline - these Pinto's sure did odd stuff with their vegetables. Vaseline! My mind raced. What would these regular guys be doing with a cucumber covered in Vaseline? I was keenly suspicious. I sniffed again, the smell was familiar - I know dirty, when I smell it, and here was a putrid heap of it -definitely anal. I realized this cucumber had been up someone's ass! My cock gave a mighty throb in my jeans. A drop of pre-cum colored the faded denim. I squeezed my prick wondering what to do with this butt-hole plug in my hands. I had this like great urge to whip out my cock and whack-off furiously before anyone came back. "Oh you found Jose's joystick?" My heart leapt into my throat. I had not heard Joao entering the room. He held a tray in his hand with three glasses of iced wine and some nibbley things on a plate. I pushed the greasy cucumber back under the bed and tried to look cool and composed which, taking into account that I had just been caught squeezing my cock; creaming my jeans; and fiddling with somebody's fuck-stick, was a substantial achievement. "Dad made the wine himself." I did not appreciate being reminded about his dad - would he go telling him how he had caught this crazy American kid squeezing his cock while sniffing his brother's anal invader? He straddled a chair opposite me, the only one in the small room, spreading his legs wide. I needed time to sort out the situation - I'd had been caught, so to speak, green-handed and I wished Jose would come back and rescue me from this kid's rather unsettling looks. He sipped his wine and leaned back on the chair with a sigh and made himself comfortable. His white gym shorts were baggy and loose fitting - I guessed they had been handed down from his brothers. He glowed, hot and sweaty, from the work in the spring sun. This little snail-trail of snot crept slowly down his upper lip, through the early beginnings of a downy brown moustache. He licked it away with his little pink tongue and I swear, this made my cock jump again. It was coiled-up painfully in my jeans, like a rolled up high-pressure fire-hose with the water turned on. "Like what did you mean with Joystick?" My curiosity was aroused. "Oh he likes to sit on it." Joao laughed and rested a dirty hand on his inner thigh. Looking at the kid's wide-open, hairless, legs was becoming more and more pleasant. "What do you mean, sit on it?" I probed a bit more. Joao's olive-smooth legs were powerful for his age - I remembered he was a keen football player. "Oh, you know how it is. When Jose gets horny he wants something up his shithole. He says I'm too small." He laughed. I watched with pervy fascination as his index finger crept up the leg of his pants and started probing inside the darkness at the top of h is crotch. He rearranged his jewels in his shorts in such a way that a few stray strands of pubic hair showed above on his left leg. These Portuguese guys seemed to mature kinda young. I found myself wondering if this also meant he could shoot a little jizz. If I was even slightly gay, which you know by now I am not, I would have said that the tip of dinky uncut cock that peeped out of the other leg of his shorts at me, was very lovely to look at. I poured more wine into his glass from the little carafe thing. We both took a long deep drink of the wine. I it was kinda making me a bit light in the head and my nose was itching. Meanwhile, back at the top of the stairs - fuck my fanny, if he doesn't s tart fingering the Pinto family jewels - his finger kinda caressing his young boy's cock, and tugging at the thick foreskin. If he was this regular straight arrow, why was he go doing this stuff? "When you arrived, I asked Jose if you were his substitute cucumber." This was seriously naughty talk for a little kid. I was even more shocked when, giggling again, Joao leaned over and touched the damp spot on my jeans that I was like casually pretending wasn't there. "You're all wet Senhor," he said. His was still playing with his own cock and had, by now, rolled the foreskin back, to reveal a shiny-pink, tapered, cherry. I felt my throat tighten like I was choking "Hey Joao, I like ain't no fag, if that's what you getting at." I, somehow, croaked out. I was panting like a train. If I had been gay, I'd have admitted this was the most exciting thing that had happened in my virgin life. My head spun - as it the wine? I had to get outta there. All these kinda lust-like feelings boiled up in me and I'd start doing shit to the kid any minute and what kinda pervert would that make me? I stood up. My massive bulge was unmistakable and was at about his eye level. "Like, I think I better go help your brother find my boxes, before something seriously wrong happens." I started to move past him but the gap between the beds and the chair was kinda small and I had to brush past his leg to get out. Then Joao made his move. He grabbed firmly and quickly at the O'Toole family jewels. I was amazed at his skill: it was like he'd pulled this shit before. He zipped down my fly and next thing I knew, there is my familiar King Kong-log between my slender leg s, pointing up skywards, like one of those whippy aerials on cars. Next thing he has his soft lips kissing the tip of my big cock. I had better explain that I was kinda small for my age except in the genital department - it's as if nature saved up all my growth hormones for one large practical joke. A shiver of pleasure ran through my entire body as he actually took the head in his mouth! I mean, Jeeze, I'd heard about blow jobs, but I believed only old toothless fags and real pervy women did that stuff - not nice young kids. My left leg started to quake uselessly. He mouth was soft and tender and he sucked my cock very gently. I reached down and fondled his little cock - the tip responding to my touch and this sticky stuff glazed the tip. "Tudo bem?" Asked Jose, as he re-entered the room "The boxes are waiting for you in the shop." My heart stopped completely for an hour - or at least I thought it was that long. I tried to whip the cock out of the boy's mouth but he held on like a hungry calf. And snatched my balls to make sure I couldn't getaway. Fuck! I can't believe this is happening to me: this will mean a big dent in my image! "I.... well, shit." I tried to explain. We looked at each other in shock. Would he kill me, beat me up, or just call the cops? A smile broke over Jose's handsome face. He strolled over to the bed and poured a glass of wine. "A sua saude!." This odd-sounding toast to my health was all he said before draining his glass. He walked over to his brother and stroked his dark curls. "He sucks really well, don't you think?" With Jose so close to me, I was overcome with his warm masculine. My cock seemed to take over and started fucking the little guy's face with renewed impetus. "I--I found this cucumber under the bed -- it was an accident and then, well, your brother came in and he started to lay this heavy shit on me. Like, he started doing stuff with his own tool and like I threw a boner... and like..." My hopeless attempt at explanation trailed off at this point. "I ain't never done this faggy stuff before." I said, desperate for him to believe me. "Tell him to stop and I'll go away and you will never see me again, I swear...." Jose put his arm around my waist and kissed me full on the mouth. His mouth was a rare pleasure, his tongue exploring my teeth and lips. He tried to slip me his tongue, but I started to gag from the surprise of it. Recovering, I pulled him closer to me an d my hand explored his body - caressing his naked chest. I played with his brown nipples and then moved my inexpert hands down until I reached the sharp tent his manhood made in his running-suit pants. His eager hands found mine and helped me work his pants down to the ground, revealing a glorious eight inches of man-cock and these big hairy balls. I was surprised to feel all this thick spot black hair around his crotch. My hand explored: his belly; his balls; his butt - all wonderfully hairy. Man, I was in heaven. I could not stop to think about what I was doing I just kinda surrendered to it all. "Hey, little shit, stop sucking so I can see what the man has got down there." Jose called out to Joao who was still working my cock shaft. "Deixa-me em paz! Leave me alone! I saw it first and I want the leite quente." He spat back at his brother, as he released my cock. The warm milk they were arguing about was about to put in an early appearance. Jose jaw fell slack-open when he saw my nine inches. He squeezed it and wanked it gently. I had four hands pulling it this way then that. " I knew it! Once you see his cock you want it up your dirty shithole and I don't get to suck it. Why don't you stick your pepino up your hole and leave him to me." "Fuck-off, kid!" "I got him to take his cock out." "I got him to come home." My cock was in no mood for an argument. While this was not quite my first time, I was like having great sex with this handsome older guy and this real cute kid, and it was a real turn-on they were like fighting over who did what to me. "Hey quit fighting, otherwise I'm just like gonna have to whack myself off." Jose sank to his knees in front of me and stuffed as much of my cock in his mouth as he could. Joao whipped his shorts off to showed me his precocious three-inch tool.. I stood him on the chair and stroked his naked boy's body. His nice, firm, light-brown hard-on stuck out from his belly like a sore thumb. A few scarce, but long, dark pubic hairs spread out to left and right of his pecker - you could count them, there were so few. His balls were big in comparison and hung in a hairless pear-shaped sack. Now, as you know, I'm no fag and I kinda always thought that cocks, especially little boy's cocks are there to pee with, but, hey, one good turn deserves another, and this guy had given me this relay great blow job. There is a time and a place for everything - now was my time and here was the place. He was standing on the chair jacking-off when I lowered my head to his cock - I swear I only planned to like nuzzle it, but next thing I knew I had it full-in my mouth and I'm sucking it, getting high on this strong funky little boy aroma coming off his skin. Joao groaned as he fooled around with my ears. He tasted sweet and fresh, his skin slightly stinging of sweat He was trembling under my mouth as I sucked him off then sank one ball then the other into my mouth - this blow-job business was not disgusting after all. "Oh Liberty, you suck real good. Better than Jose." My hands explored his firm legs and wandered around to his little butt -hard and smooth and sweaty from working out in the sun. My fingers found their own way down the crack. My tongue worked its way into his tiny piss-slit. His legs were shaking as much an my own and I knew I was gonna bust my nuts any second. My finger found the very hole of his little, boy's butt. It's tiny and very tight. As I massaged it I felt it loosen very slightly, then the muscle s trapped my finger at the entrance of his cute cozy little hole and I felt his nuts tighten-up hard, against his cock and I knew he was about to cum and I was gonna join him. If he was gonna slime up, I did not think I was ready to take it in my mouth, so I released his saliva-covered dick and whacked him till he yelled and his balls busted, and this thin watery liquid ran over his cock like a shinny glaze-coating. Not yet real cum, but a wet cum nonetheless. I did the old tongue-tip-test on the slime and it did not taste as revolting as I expected, so I sucked a bit more off his red sore-looking knob-head. He went limp in my arms, and still shaking, he got off the chair. Down below, Jose was working frantically at my cock. Well, I'll be fucked in half if I knew how, but he had stripped me naked, without my noticing it. He grabbed my leg between his thighs and rubbed himself off doggy-style. My big toe started to explore hi s hairy nuts. "Don't cum I want you to fuck me." He said in this mouthful-of-dick voice. Frankly, this was like King Canute trying to order back the waves. Jeeze, I'm under fourteen not some sort of advanced sexual athlete. Jose didn't say another thing, but lay me on the lower bunk-bed next to him. He released my adolescent ballsac from a long hard suck and pulled away to stare at my cock; sizing it up, as it were. Then he opened his mouth and took a deep breath, as if he was going to push his head under water. Then he went down on me in a frenzy of enthusiastic activity. "Hey Jose watch out, I'm gonna jizz in your mouth." This only seemed to like make him more desperate and he sucked even harder. He was breathing as heavily as I. Then CUM TIME! I unloaded what felt like the biggest fucking wad of my young life. I could hear Jose coughing and spluttering and I knew that I must like have sent thousands of those little sperm things swimming into his mouth. In heaven, I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, Jose was whacking himself, trying not to lose his erection - but his cock was deflating. "Alheiras de Mirandela" - he called my cock his piquant Portuguese sausage. "Well I reckon that makes Joao's a chouricos." I laugh at the thought of the pepper and garlic flavored little sausage I'd just been sucking. "Hey when you recover will you post your Alheiras de Mirandela in my caixa do correio" Sausages and postbox this guy was nuts. "Are you gonna spunk up on my Alheiras de Mirandela." I asked him jerking him with my left hand I wanted to see his man's load of cum and fancied the idea of it in milky-white pools on my belly. "It's gonna take a bit more than a wank to get me to cum." He said sadly. "It's no good, I'm gonna have to do it my own way. I hope you don't mind, Liberty. Joao, bring you brother the joystick." Joao obliged and handed him the pepino and the Vaseline. A few strokes later, the cucumber is well and truly greased-up. With a mixture of amazement and very intense voyeuristic pleasure, I watched this gorgeous guy get off by squatting on the bed and moving this large cucumber up to his hairy crack. His beautiful face twisted with concentration, as with a firm grip on the cucumber and a gentle grunt, he started to thrust it inch by inch into his asshole - it looked to me like he had mistaken his bum for a food-processor. The deeper the cucumber slipped into his hole, the more movement I detected in his cock, until it had recovered a full erection. I sat on the bed slowly masturbating again while I watched this incredible display. I felt Joao leaning against my back. He was still naked and his cock was soft but still warm. He pressed it on against my back and put his arms around my neck and whispered in my ear: "It's always the same - he can't cum without something firm and hard in his bum. First he stretches his hole with the pepino and then he is ready to take a cock." Joao and I watched as Jose moved up and down on his joystick His eyes glowed with intense pleasure as he rode the cucumber like a kid pretending he was riding a horse. Some pre-cum shimmered at the tip of his prick and some of the excitement was getting to me again. This was very distracting, and frankly lewd behavior from a guy much older than us kids. There was some serious vegetable abuse going on here! Perhaps my crazy Mom was right to go getting vibes from the vegetables in their shop. The poor things were probably crying out for help. One way or another, you would have to be pretty damned careful what we bought there in future. Were there tell tale pubic hairs on the lettuce? Cum-stains on the damaged end of a soft paw-paw? Vaseline on the zucchini? Anal mucus on the marrow's? Signs that the parsnips had been blown? Worst of all, where the asparagus looking all limp and shagged out? I had vision of protest groups congregating outside the shop baring placards that read: 'Stop this Abuse of our leafy friends!' 'Carnivores against vegetable abuse!' 'Leave the baby marrow's to enjoy a happy childhood.' 'Vegetable sex hurts us all!' Joao moved closer to my ear again and whispered: "He has tried my chouricos in there often enough, but he thought it was too small. I have brought friends home for him. He is always too shy to find his own playmates. Always in the past, he first pushes the cucumber up his hole, then he wants my friends t o shove their cocks in the shit as well. But, after his big green friend, he always finds their cocks too small, but maybe you can help out, you got quite a big one there. Do you fancy a fuck?" "You bet your brother's sore fucking ass." Joao reached down and squeezed my cock again as I felt his little cock pressing into my back. I could have shot my load there and then, if it wasn't that Jose opened his peepers and looked at me, sweat plastering his long dark hair to his face. "It's okay, now. I'm ready, Liberty! I want you to fuck me deep and hard!" ******************* Well, I guess it's time for me to tell you more about my deformity. Shall I put it this way - if I get to fill in a job application form sometime and there is a question - Do you suffer from any physical disability? I will have to answer yeah. - BFD Syndrome. I guess that personnel people, being what they are, they would be to discrete to ask what it is, so I'll have to tell them BFD is Big Floppy Dick syndrome. Nothing wrong with the length - Jeeze nine inches on a thirteen-and-a- half is pretty respectable, it's the aerodynamics that bother me. Man, it's a killer, I tell you. I mean it is really, really embarrassing. Eventually I will get to lay some lady and she will be laid out, all hopeful and expectant and says to me: "Liberty, darling, take your clothes off." Hoping to see this nice cock, maybe a bit on the big side, she dies of fright when what does she get? The Hindenberg - that's sprung a leak. It is so floppy, that I can slap my thighs on either side with it and whip my butt and my belly above the navel. God built it as the perfect masturbation engine, but forget about any form of penetration. Not that I had tried much in the penetration stakes, that is. So that's the tale of Moby fucking Dick. But, it gets worse, much worse: I suppose since it's tell-all-time, I'd better give you a for instance. Well, I told you about my Jose feelings. Well, there was this guy at school named Kevin Rosenmund and okay, if I must be honest, I also got Jose feelings about Kevin. I'm an eighth grader and he was like years ahead of me, but 'cause the school's so small, we guys all got to do PE in the gym together once a week. Kev organized the whole thing. At first we had no clue what was going down, he just told us just he wanted the entire male population of the American school in the boys' locker-room. "We all had 'nough joking 'bout who's got the biggest dick, so were gonna have a cock length competition." He informed us, when all forty of us were gathered. "I am gonna to take the length and thickness with this here tape measure an' Willie-Joe will keep score." Willie-Joe Rayhill, son of an Atlanta banker, was a wise ass little prick with matching genitalia. About thirteen, he didn't look a day over nine. He might be the winner in the peanut-penis of the millennium competition. At first there was silence. We were all a bit stunned. This kinda kinky thing was the last thing we had expected to hear from Kevin Rosenmund. Some cat-calls jeered the idea, but by the time Kevin got started, most of us were kinda keen to play along. At this school of ours, there was the periodic interest in your own and someone else's tool, but you had to be very careful - a bit too much interest could earn you a fag label for life. Poor Danny Hudson, was considered a bit of a queer, 'cause he always peeked a sideways look at us when we're changing and two guys had been expelled from the school for having sex in the showers the year I arrived in Lisbon. Like the rest of the guys, I had learned to sneak a look at the other guys' tools, using my peripheral vision in the showers. This competition would finally put an end to all the speculation as about who had the biggest dick. "Whip 'em out boys and get 'em good and stiff." Kevin called and Willie-Joe took a clipboard and pen and followed him like a clerk at an agricultural show on bull judging day. The locker room was very crowed and the mid-summer temperature got most of us guys to strip off completely, while some just dropped there pants. "Jack off guys, but mind yer don't go jizzin' now, I want 'em hard as possible." Kevin Rosenmund, a senior, had been a school football and swimming star back in the States. His blond hair and blue peepers had ensured him an enthusiastic following among the local girls. He stripped off completely and strolled up and down the line we ha d formed slinging his cock around like a cheerleaders baton and stopping now and then to playfully squeeze some guy's dick and tell him he'd have to get it stiff if he wanted to be in the running. Then he went to the end of the line and started with Jimmy Aitkinson. Jimmy was a cool Canadian dude. We hung out together a bit that summer. Jimmy had a fairly formidable weapon under his Levi 501's. From where I stood at the end of the line, I didn't have a good view of what was going down, but Kev seemed to be taking a lot of time performing the simple task of measuring a cock. I mean, it should have been - length and circumference, write it down, next one. Tommy Jackson, pretty small; Billy o'Connor, average lots of red hair; Leon Cardinali Italian origin, thick fucker, lots of black hair. This was the first opportunity I had had to like really unashamedly examine the dicks in the school and there were some very intriguing specimens. Some shooting off at odd angles; big balled buggers; barely discernible balls; lots of hair; hardly any hair at all. All the guys were jerking off - a keenly stimulating spectacle. Poor old Danny Hudson looked as though he had died and gone to heaven. Then Kevin reached Steve Hickey. Steve was a new guy in school. He was an Ohio Farm-boy who's dad had been appointed as agricultural attache. Kevin Rosenmund went down on his knees in front of Steve's cock. He eyed it and started measuring it. That was when the first 'accident' happened! There was bit of a crush in that part of the locker room as some guys, keen to see what was going on, bunged into Steve from behind. As he stumbled forward, his cock just like blundered into Kevin's open mouth. A dick in Kev's mouth! Well, this cheer went up from all the guys as Kevin coughed and sputtered and tried to wipe the taste of penis out his mouth. Then I noticed there was a whole load of pre-cum leaking like melting ice over Kevin's cock. The sly fucker had liked it! The second 'accident' was just about a rerun of the first. Steve was pretty close to me in line and I caught a good eyeful of the whole incident. Again some over enthusiastic voyeurs hustled Steve into the gaping mouth of Kevin. Two accidents were more than any fifteen-year-old can be expected to endure - so he shot his wad there and then - most of it straight into Kevin waiting cakehole. What a sight! The moment the spunk shot into Kevin's mouth something incredible happened to me. I must have some kinda valve thing in it and that kicks into operation, mainly just before I cum, but sometimes when I get real excited about something. Well, you can guess the rest - suddenly my respectable nine inch BFD stretched out in all directions. It was gross - the skinniest kid in the school, ribs showing the lot, with this huge fucker that like almost caused me to topple over front-ward with the extra weight. The locker room becomes hushed. I realized that every one of the jerking-off guys were staring at me in, almost religious, silence. My nine incher had stretched to eleven and it doubled its thickness. Kevin got up off his knees and makes this big performance of spitting out Steve's load of jism. "Fuckin' tarnation you watch were you shootin', boy." Sure thing, Kev! His jerking cock told another story. He didn't fool me with this macho act - I'd got his number by then. He skipped the boys between Steve and me. There is a moan of disappointment - some of the guys seemed to want him to touch and squeeze them. "I reckon we got ourselves a hands down winner." I watched Steve milk the last drops of milky cum outta his dick and I felt myself getting Jose feelings for Steve. Jeeze, these Jose-feelings must be contagious. I'd also like to grab hold of a few of the other thirty-seven cocks in the school, even little Willie-Joe, who, his zipper full down, had fished his out and stood expectantly flogging his log next to me. Then Kevin settles on his knees staring my piss-slit in the eye. I felt his trembling fingers and the tape measure wraps around the Hindenberg and Kevin calls out the measurements, but Willie-Joe was too busy jacking off to write it down. "Willie-Joe quit strangling the poor little critter and measure mine." He did so and announced a good eight and three-quarter inches. Kevin was leaking pre-cum all over Willie-Joe's eager hands. "The Winner is Liberty O'Toole - by a long shot. Now, as school president, I think it my right to bring this winner to a well earned climax." Clearly, Kevin Rosenmund has a fine future in politics ahead of him. A cheer went up and all the guys, cocks in hand, crowded in around Kevin and me. Somehow the Rosenmund mouth stretched wide enough to take the entire fucker in. Gone was all the macho pretense! He was gobbling my dick like it was blueberry pie on the 4th of July. I found I had Willie Joe's baby cock in one hand and Jimmy Aitkinson's in the other, and I wished I had more than two hands. Kev brought me to an expert climax before long. That was my first like real sex experience. I think that day will be burned onto my memory for the rest of eternity. Forty cocks pointing at me like an execution line up - what a glorious firing squad. Forty dudes whacking off and spilling their loads leaving the locker room floor a sticky mess. Best of all, the school heartthrob on his knees had swallowed my cum. ******************* Further along the Rua 25 Abril, near the school, three heroic Stalinist figures were painted on the wall: Karl Marx who looked to me like Santa Claus; Engels was like an heroic old testament prophet; and Lenin looking for all the world like a pizzaman. Hey , sorry, I'm like that, I notice things and kinda see things differently that other dudes. But, after I told them, everyone in my crowd called Marx: Santa and Lenin: Mr. Pizza-Express. So, at the point when I had all this heavy, grade-a, sexual stuff happening, I took time out to notice the red and white scarf and rosettes pinned on the walls that marked the Pinto brothers as Benfica football-club fans. Then I noticed that there was a sh elf of teddy's, like a dozen or more of them. Jose recovered enough to tell me that his swarthy, rambunctious younger brother collected them from cousins and friends, when they were too old for them, and how he took them down, hugged and loved them. You might think this is all a wee bit trite, but he was so cute and I think that a little guy, like this, needed a break and I found myself liking Joao even more for this hobby of his. "Tudo bem?" Jose asked in Brazilian, the second language of Portugal, how I was doing. This awesome looking dude, who smelt like an armpit - a very sexy hairy armpit, but an armpit nonetheless - fell on his back, legs in the air, his pepino still embedded in his pungent ass, and he wanted me to fuck him. Actual penetration! Wow! "Quer que Ihr mostre a ciDade?" Jose asked if he could show me round the city - I bet he must have figured it was my first fuck. I was blushing already. Jose pressed his lips to my bony chest and kissed my little bee-sting nipples - no one had ever touched me like that and it was a shock at first. I'd never though of my nipples a source of sexual pleasure - surely that was only women that got hot feelings if someone licked their tits? Shit! Maybe, I was turning into a woman? - That was why I enjoyed this stuff with these guys. I knew what was going to happen next and I was embarrassed. The old valve clicked in and the supercharger went into overdrive. My cock grew just as it did that day in the locker room. "What a fucking monster!" Joao fell back in shocked surprise and I watched as Jose moved hungrily to grab hold of it, like it's the best thing since sliced bread. "How did you do that?" Jose says: "o Tamanho!" - The big one. He starts slicking it up with Vaseline and Joao and I gave him a hand - a lot of Vaseline was needed. I approached this hole that still had the big green rod up it. This was no time for being faint hearted. I took a firm grip of the cucumber and withdrew it in one smart move. As I did so he shot his wad! Great gobs of pearly cum pooled on his hairy flat belly. A Gentle fart emitted from Jose's hole the ripe smell of his spunk and our sweat mingled with the earthy smell from the traces of shit and anal mucus on the cucumber in my hand. I didn't wait for a second invitation - furrowing my way between his hairy legs, I rammed my rod into his dark hole, with all the impetuous violence of inexperience, causing him to shout out so loudly, I expected the neighbors to bang on the door any second I showered his neck, face and shoulders with inexpert kisses. The dark eyes open wide in a mixture of pain and bliss. Then his lips moved: "Fuck me, Liberty, fuck the shit out of my nadega." His bum starts responding appreciatively I could feel the muscles clenching and unclenching. His whole life he had wanted a real cock. He has spent time with substitutes and little kids. I was what he needed all the time -- I, a kid years younger than him, was giving him what he had craved. "o Tamanho! o Grande." - He wanted big - he had big. The cum on his hairy belly rubbed against my tool and lubricated it into life against my kid's belly. His nuts slap against my balls and sweat poured off both our bodies. Jose crossed his legs over my back and he moaned something repeatedly. I couldn't understand it. A little hand pushed my bum on the inward strokes it was Joao. "He says fuck him till the shit comes out his mouth." "Jeeze, I'm trying my best." I whispered to Joao. "Oh Jose I was wanting to do stuff with you for years now, I can't believe I finally am" I was getting soppy and emotional, same bullshit with kissing and stuff, but hell a guy only gets to take his first fuck once. Jose pulls his brother closer to our fucking bodies: "You see what you brother has needed?" Then it all comes together for us The intense pleasure of asshole closed around my rampant tool; the smell, the cum thick and white between us; a lingering taste of Joao's cock on my tongue; the little kid joining in our lovemaking and whispering Portuguese obscenities to his brother; the memory of that gigantic school jerk-circle - all came together and I was on the edge on the precipice. Joao grabbed the old green monster and shoved it toward his brother's mouth and Jose takes in the end, that minutes earlier had been in his hole. It smells joyously of shit and stuff. I could hold back no longer: "Oh fuck Jose here it comes!" He held my smooth ass, pressing me deeper into him and arched his back and I felt the great jets of hot cum spurt repeatedly deep in him. He groaned, his own love juices spilling between out bodies and dripping down his sides. His thrill was so intense, he bit off the end of his cucumber "Well," said Joao philosophically, "he was due to get a replacement from the shop below a good one only lasts two weeks." The silence that followed, was broken only by the radio paying softly in the background. They are playing Fado. I remembered the first night we arrived here in Lisbon, dad took us to a Fado Cafe in the Barrio Alto. This fat old lady in this too tight dress sang accompanied by two guitars. I giggled at first, then something about these words I could not understand, drowned even the silly twelve-year-old's laughter. The feeling of the music washed over me as it did over the wet-eyed regulars. Over the years I had learned how to understand the words, but that day for the first time I understand the feeling, the emotion, behind it and it sent shivers up my spine. Amalia Rodrigues sang personally to me, about departing over the sea and leaving loved ones behind and despair and longing. Something in me busted - I liked Lisbon - I loved the quirky graffiti stenciled on the walls of the city; I liked the warm friendly people and I was going to miss this old white city that had been home since I was ten. I guess I just felt kinda shitty about everything. Jose and I embraced for a long time. My cock shrunk to its normal nine inches then even smaller, until it eventually plopped out of his butt-hole. Still I didn't want to break away. This was so truly wonderful. He looked into my eyes - no more avoiding the m again. "If only we had started sooner. Four years ago, maybe..." "Huh!" Joao snorted derisively "Four years ago Liberty was only a kid and I was a baby. Santa Maria, you two stink of shit and cum!" He wrinkled up his nose. "Where is all your spunkiness now?" I ask him. "Look, I shot another load while you two were fucking like rabbits in spring time." He pointed out the fresh watery-cum stain in his brother's armpit where he had rubbed himself off. His tool was still half-stiff and spunk covered. I drew him closer and sucked it off, cleaning off the last traces off his cheeky little weapon. "Almoco - lunch." Joao announced. While he and I washed up over a white enamel basin, his brother banged around in the room next door preparing lunch. Bacalhua - cold cod bread and Salada de Pepinos awaited us in the crowed room, where we sat down naked to lunch. I found myself wondering about the cucumber salad- could it be? There was no trace of the original joy-stick. Would he? What the hell, it tasted good. Well, I'd found a good home for teddy and if I planned it right, and worked hard all afternoon at the packing, I could take him around the next day, round siesta time. Then I could say good-bye, properly. A long, slow good-bye. The End. 03/03/96 salada de pepinos 19