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The Circle


two and a half years ago

There it was, Tim's van, all black and shiny, parked right where it usually was at the end of the parking lot near the trees and the picnic table, not another car in sight.

I was straddling my bike at the entrance to the Lake Ida preserve parking area, thinking.

Since smoking grass for the first time earlier that summer, I had been hooked. I had already learned that you could smoke yourself straight, or to sleep. Or even both. I also knew the difference between the good stuff and crap. My cousin Roger had taught me a lot about pot, and other fun stuff, over the summer. Roger grew his own with the help of his parents, and it was all great stuff. They grew many different kinds at the same time, and they loved to mix them up and breed for their own strains. All I knew at first was that they grew a lot of different pot, and it all kicked my ass. Under their tutelage, hydroponics, genetics, and cross-breeding went from theoretical things that I had seen in books to things I knew and understood. I was very experienced in many was by thirteen as I sat pondering Tim the pot dealer's van that sunny fall day.

The kids who bought their dope off Tim would be shocked to see the bookworm-nerd-geek-brain-goodie-goodie-two-shoes Alex anywhere near Tim Miller's van. Almost everyone at my new high school said that Tim was the best pot dealer around. I hadn't asked, I had only heard. They said that he set up there at the forest preserves almost all year long, selling baggies until near sundown.

And it probably wouldn't do Tim's business any good for me to be seen around him, either, I thought, as I pushed off and headed toward the van. That was why I had skipped last period, and at two-thirty in the afternoon, was rolling up on the van.

I took a deep breath as I rounded the back of it, my heart beating powerfully in my chest. I saw that Tim was alone, sitting in the open sliding side door, his legs dangling just over the edge at the knees. He had a Cubs hat on over his long, smooth, straight, brown hair that went past his shoulders, front and back. He was wearing no shirt, showing off his chest hair.

I thought that nipples usually only got hard during sex, or from cold. If so, then Tim was horny, or cold. There was some hair between his dark brown nipples, not thick, but looked like it might be when he got even older. It stopped well before another beginning patch started under his belly button and disappeared into his jeans. That interested me, because under his arms, Tim had almost no hair, just wispy curls that hardly showed. They were long, but sparse, some grouping together a bit and being more noticeable. A small necklace of little shells hung around his neck, their light tan color contrasting against his tanned skin. Jeans cut off at mid-thigh showed off his nicely tanned and slightly hairy legs. He wore sandals and no socks. Tim's face was long and wide, but not overly so. Average, slightly red lips, dark eyes, and a faint, straight, narrow hint of a moustache. He had to be at least eighteen, I thought.

By then, at nearly fourteen, I had seen a lot of guys naked, had got some very close examination time, too, on a number of them. Usually guys were either hairy all over, or weren't, but Tim seemed to be hairy in some aspects, but not in others. He seemed unusual in several ways when his preliminary features were compared. I was ready to put down some very preliminary findings in my 'scientific journal', and was looking forward to gathering more detailed data up close.

An old adage that nearly everyone had heard had become an exercise in data gathering and analysis. I had begun paying attention to the size and shapes, overall proportions and dimensions, and general relations between fingers/hands/facial features and the sexual organs. With six guys in the database it was admittedly frail, but so far each had demonstrated a startling tendency to validate that old adage. I eventually thought to add my own, and found I ran nearly down the middle, completely average. The database was frail, but so far, nearly completely validating.

I had started noticing such things the previous summer when events had awoken the sexual aspect of my character. A chance meeting with a girl as I examined myself in too public a place had led to my first sexual experiences.

Not only had I learned about sex and my sexual nature early, I had hit puberty early. I had often wondered later if my early sexual awakening had prompted or rushed my physical development. By thirteen I had begun growing very quickly, and at nearly fourteen had become among the tallest and broadest in my freshman class. Only the tallest and lankiest few were taller than me. Only the brawny big jocks were broader than me. I was growing rapidly, already as tall as most of my freshman classmates.

As the nearly fourteen-year-old me rolled to a stop in front of Tim's smiling face and open legs, I wondered how much hair his jeans shorts hid. They hugged his package nicely, and I could almost make out the outlines of the contents. I saw his face and liked it up close. He had an air of, "Too cool for this." My eyes took in his hands, noticing that they seemed heavy and largish, but not by much. I saw that his nose was longish and largish, his earlobes prominent but not dangling.

"Heya, how they hangin', kid?" Tim asked, smiling, waving the cigarette he was smoking.

"Hey, fine, yours?" I answered, as I thought I would to the same or a similar question from my own few friends. I was suddenly worried that it might not be a good answer among Tim or his friends.

"Low and lonely," Tim said with a snicker.

Something similar then, I realized. I felt more at ease. I grinned easier. I rocked the bike back and forth beneath me nervously.

I momentarily wondered if he had meant anything else than the usual barb between guys, but I wasn't experienced enough to really know. The topic of my seemingly liking guys a lot more than girls was solidly a fact by then. I was liking thinking about guys more with each passing month.

I wanted to stop thinking those kinds of things in front of someone, especially a stranger, so I became fixated on doing what I was there for as quickly as possible. I also wanted it over quickly before I got seen there, but mostly because I didn't want to get caught looking at where Tim's jeans cut off the view.

"Uh, so, I hear your in the business?"

"What business is that?" Tim asked, grinning.

"You know, you sell grass?" I asked, feeling embarrassed and exposed.


"How much?"

"For what?"

"Uh, an eighth," I remembered.

It was probably more than I could afford anyway.

"Twenty," Tim said before taking a drag off his cigarette.

"Okay. I was just checking," I said, preparing to ride off.

"Sorry, man, too bad. I still got the killer today, probably gonna run out tonight. Be back to the regular stuff again."

"Oh?" I asked. "Cheaper?"

"A little. Fifteen."

"I told the guys I would have some this weekend," I said, down-hearted. I noticed as he adjusted himself in his tight jeans shorts. "Guess I'll have to do some more yards."

"You'll miss out on the killer, but your choice," he said with a shrug. "We can make a deal," Tim offered, flicking the cigarette away, grinning differently now.

It wasn't threatening at all. If anything, I thought, he looked embarrassed. I was sure his light tan was stained a bit darker red around his cheeks.

"How could I get some of the killer? I won't have the money until later."

"We can make this deal where you do something for me and I'll trade a few joints, or maybe a small bag."

"I don't know," I said, immediately suspicious.

A few people had come up missing, or been found, the preserves over the past few years, I'd heard. Most recently a twenty-two year old guy had been found robbed and stabbed to death. He had been openly gay, and his murder was called a hate crime. In the early eighties it wasn't cool to be gay, but it wasn't an immediate death sentence. It did mean putting up with a lot of grief and trouble. Especially if you were in school.

Having an older guy, nearly the ages of the men in the woods, making what I thought was sexual advances was more than slightly worrying. My mind raced, considering that perhaps all he wanted was a few courier runs, or maybe some other labor.

"Tell ya what. How long would it take ya to get the twenty bucks?"

"A couple days," I answered, rolling my bike front to back under me, a tight grip on the bars and one foot on the raised pedal.

"Hmmm, kinda too long," Tim said.

"Sorry to bother ya," I said, starting the pedal downward.

"Wait," Tim said. "I hate to let you and your buds down. I know if you don't have a job or a big allowance you don't have the money. Let's go for a ride and talk trade. If you don't want to trade, we'll just have talked and smoked a joint."

My guts chilled.

"Why?" I asked, curious and concerned.

"I got an idea. Put your bike right there," Tim said casually, waving to the inside of the van. "Got to be fast though, before the customers get here and I miss any."

It was no secret that kids had been kidnapped from the area in the past. It had happened some time before I moved there almost two months ago. I wasn't concerned that Tim had anything to do with that, but I was naturally cautious around new people. Tim had been doing business there for some time, and I felt I wasn't in danger of that from him, but the possibility of other trouble was always in my mind.

I had not yet told anyone that I preferred guys to girls, but just the knowledge within myself made me paranoid that everyone around me knew it. I often felt as if a giant, glowing neon sign hung above my head. It was only visible to everyone else, never to me, with the word 'faggot' spelled out in bright pink. Sometimes I felt like it was flashing and had an arrow pointing down at me, like right then.

Tim wasn't the only person I was sure was a dealer, but I knew he was reliable, had good prices, and good merchandise. Most of all, he wasn't as scary as the other ones. I really wanted to get high, and have some pot for the guys Friday night. And to have a dealer. I missed the feeling of being high since finishing the bag my cousin had given me last month. If riding somewhere with Tim meant that I might be able to get high and get a bag of weed, then it was probably worth it, I decided. And I didn't know what he would want me to do, but I suspected it would mean taking things to people who may have something to bring back to Tim. Images of police asking me what was in the brown paper bag I carried to someone for Tim flashed through my head.

I can always turn him down, I thought. I don't have to do what he wants for a baggie. What if it's sex? What if Tim's gay and coming on to me! Shit! Would that be cool or what? Yeah, it so would! But, no way. Be real dude!

I needed to score, Tim had a good reputation, and I wanted to get stoned.

I lifted my bike into the van and laid it on the floor, hoping that I wasn't making a mistake. I saw the inside of the van, and I instantly loved the strange, wavy bed in the back. Tim told me to slide the door shut. I climbed in through the sliding door, slid it shut behind me, then got into the passenger's seat as Tim started the engine.

What am I doing? I asked myself. Getting into a van with a guy I've never talked to before! This could be a fucking trap! But Tim's too well-known and too young to be a murderer, isn't he? He can't be some freak or killer, could he? Besides, anyone with this cool a van couldn't be a bad guy!

I loved the van from what I had seen of it from the outside. Inside it was even better. Black outside, red and black upholstery inside: Black shag on the floor, red velvet button upholstery on the walls, black matching buttoned upholstery on the ceiling, a sink in a cabinet with drawers and a couple doors, and a bed in the back. There were red velour curtains separating the two front seats from the rest of the van that were pulled back at the moment. A mirror over the sink had a heavily done golden filigree edge that seemed perfectly designed for the rest of the interior. The sink was obviously a home unit with a black top and a replacement stainless steel bowl. I wondered if it really could have running water, and if so, where the drain went.

"So, what's this idea?" I asked as the van began moving.

"Where you live at?" Tim asked.

"You can just take me to the A&P on Joliet Road, I wanna get something for later," I stated, not wanting my neighbors to possibly see me coming home in the van, nor Tim knowing where I lived.

"Okay," Tim said, pulling out of the parking lot into the street. "Then, I know a spot we can talk on the way there. So, how old are you?"

"Fourteen. Almost."

"Go to Washington?" Tim asked, naming the local middle school.

"Naw. High school, actually," I said, wondering if I would be believed.

"Really? You some kind of brain?" Tim asked, looking over at me with a curious expression.

"Not really, just skipped fifth. It was a bad school and most of the kids were morons, or brain-damaged."

Bursting out in laughter, Tim said, "You're all right, Alex."

I chilled inside as he spoke my name. It felt as if magic had been used to lower my internal body temperature to the freezing point, and it was only my continued burning of calories that kept me from turning solidly frozen. After swallowing twice, with difficulty, I was able to ask.

"How do you know my name?"

"Well, I know your neighbor, Jon."

"Oh, Jon, yeah," I said, wondering if Jon had said anything about what little we had done together.

"Well, look, Alex, sometimes guys or gals want some weed, but don't have the money. You know? And sometimes, sometimes, I work a deal. One guy put this radio in for me for a bag. Another guy gave me some speakers. Sometimes they take a delivery and bring back the money. See what I mean?"

"Yeah, sure, but what do I have you want, or what can I do?" I asked, my body trembling.

Errands, running pot to his customers most likely, I thought.

"Some folks traded, like some baseball cards. Sometimes like, other stuff. So, some folks don't have much to trade, you know? So, they do me favors. I know this one girl, she'll go all the way for enough. She'll do other stuff for less." Tim was silent for a bit before continuing, "So, like, you bike past all the time. Right? The last couple weeks I've seen you."

He stopped at the stop sign, watching me.

What if he wants sex? He said there was a girl who did it for pot. But what if Tim was thinking about killing the fag? I should have forgot getting pot! Stupid!

No. Wait. Don't panic. Don't freak. Figure it out. Maybe sex, maybe. Probably delivery service. He asked about biking around. He mentioned seeing me on the bike more. Got to be. No way I could be lucky enough to have Tim coming on to me!

"I wanted to make a deal. I make the same one with some other customers before. Okay? You okay with that?"

Other customers? Still, talking what deal? Am I okay with it? I don't know what it is! At least he isn't leaning over yelling am I a fag or not at me.

"What?" I asked, starting to tremble more, hoping this was going to go a good way and not one of the hundred bad ways that kept popping up in my head.

"It's like this. I ain't gay, and I ain't saying you are, okay? Just, sometimes guys can help each other out, you know. And it feels better than jacking yourself off, ya know?"

I felt my body ice up, then heat up and tingle. Tim turned deeper into the preserves onto what barely passed as an actual road. I knew it was chained-off a few hundred feet ahead.

I have to answer! But what? Is he only asking to see if I'm a fag and then kick the shit out of the fag and drop his body out here in the woods? We're getting deeper into the preserve now. Don't panic! He'd lose a possible customer! He's always said to be a good guy. There was a couple of stories about him breaking up fights, even protecting guys being robbed or hassled. Somebody said it was a gay kid, but lots said that was bullshit. I came to Tim because of his nearly shining reputation among the Heads. Just go with the question. What do I answer?

"Yeah, I think."

"Yeah. I won't rape you. Honest. All I want is off, you know? Doing it yourself gets boring. Ain't got a chick now, and I thought I would ask. And if you tell anyone, honest, I will beat the hell out of you!"

I swallowed in fear. I believed him.

I'd love to give Tim a handy! Hell, I jacked off trying to imagine his cock last night, knowing I was going to see him today. I know I'd love to suck on his dick! Is he really talking this kind of deal? I really get to do this?

Tim had followed the road deeper into the forest preserves. It was chained off ahead, and Tim turned onto an old access road that was far too rough for most cars. Several turns and twists later, the road was a dirt trail with grass and weeds growing between the ruts. The van bounced a lot as Tim turned into a high area and through tree branches and brush. I had to hold onto the seat arms tightly and brace my feet on the floor against the wild motions of the van. Once we were through and into a small clearing, the road was invisible behind us, and I was sure we were invisible from it.

"Take a bloodhound to find us," Tim said, shutting the engine off.

"Cool, like a secret hideout!" I said.

I knew this would make a fairly good place to dump a body, too. But, I knew this area of the preserves. I had even ridden the trail behind us on my bike, and I had never noticed the clearing behind the wall of plants before. I knew a passing car would never be able to see the van, and would pass by some twenty feet away without the occupants having a clue we were there.

"Yeah. Never been disturbed here," Tim said, smiling.

"This where you bring your girlfriends?" I asked.

"Yeah, brought a couple out here," he answered, pulling a joint out of his pack of cigarettes. He lit it and took a drag, then passed it to me.

We talked around hits off it.

"Jon, your neighbor, mentioned you as you went by one day. He was inside and wanted to hide from ya. He didn't want you knowing that 'bout him."

"Why? Oh, I didn't know then."

"Yeah. Probably. When you find out he got high? I know you already know."

"A few weeks ago."

"Jon said that you was a good guy."

"Oh yeah?"

There was always a thrill when I heard that someone I liked had said something nice about me to someone. Learning that Jon, one of the guys I looked up to the most, had said so about me gave me a flush of pleasure. I couldn't hide the grin.

"Well, Jon told me about you and him being smoking friends, that you keep secrets and stuff. He said he had secrets with you and he knew you were okay."

Oh, crap, I thought.

"Ain't no one's business," I stated.


After a few more passes of the joint in silence, Tim asked, "You jerk off every day?"


"You heard me, you jerk off regular?"

Of course I do, I thought. I've been jerking it since I found out about it in that magazine on the beach the summer before last, and had gotten a blow-job before I had finished trying that first time. But, do I tell you? Do all guys my age do it yet? Roger and Jon and the other guys all said it was normal by my age. I'm pretty sure we all do.

"Well, yeah," I answered, waiting for the final question, pretty sure that I knew where things were headed.

"So, you know how it gets if you don't do it for a while? The longer you go without getting it off, the bigger the pressure you let off. Cum more, and harder, and it feels better."

"Sure," I answered around my hit, passing the doobie back.

Tim was cute, in many ways, and seemed to be treating me decently. I looked at him as he was facing out the front windshield, not looking at me. He took a hit and passed it to me, still not looking at me.

"You ever mess around with one of your buds? You know. Just mess around with each other?"

I knew Jon had said something to Tim then. I had thought that I could trust Jon to keep quiet, he didn't seem the type to say anything about something like that. I was pretty certain Jon had said something.

"You ever?" Tim asked again.

I was unsure how to answer. Saying yes might be admitting to it, but I didn't want to sound like I was a virgin, either. Saying no would be stupid, and just prove me a liar. I decided on the truth.

"Yeah, some."

Tim nodded and went on, "Well, dude, you know then, doing it yourself isn't as good as when someone else does it for you. Right?"


"I, well, it's been a while since I did anything with someone, and, I don't really care who does it, as long as someone does, ya know? And . . ."

Tim seemed lost. I had already been through this conversation with more than one person. I knew where it was going. I could tell it was difficult for Tim to go through, and I felt kind of sorry for him. He just needed some attention, and I was willing. The tension of the situation was thick. My heart beat powerfully and I was so nervous that I was sweating from hair to feet.

I was unsure how to answer. I knew where things were going then. I was certainly interested in messing around with Tim, and I'd have done it for free. I was looking forward to comparing his goods to the rest of him and adding his stats to the database. I had imagined that it would be bigger and longer than most, and he should have a nice set of balls. The view of his package had always pointed to that as well. To get pot out of the deal was a bonus. It seemed almost impossibly convenient.

I felt a bit dizzy and queasy as I asked, "Tim? Can I have an eighth for a blow-job?"

There, I asked. It was easier to say than I thought it would be. Now either I get some grass and some action, or I get the fuck beat out of me!

Tim seemed to almost jump in his seat, still staring out the windshield as if driving down the road.

"Are you saying I could trade a blow-job for a baggie? Or a hand-job for some doobies, or what?" I asked, trying to make it easier, wondering why I should have to, since he was the older one.

Tim cleared his throat and took a hit. He passed it to me without looking at me.

"I, yeah," he said after a brief time holding the smoke. "Guess so. I'm not a fag, I don't care if you are, either, I'm just saying, ya know, you can keep a secret, and I seen you checking me out when you rode up, and I thought maybe, ya know, you might be interested, is all."

Tim looked down at his lap and brushed at some ashes from the doobie that had fallen on his leg. He seemed unsure and uncomfortable. I was sure there was a new bulge there in his crotch, I was sure I could see that he was already hard. I wasn't worried about a trap any longer, and I was surprised that he had noticed me checking him out. I thought I had been pretty slick doing it. I knew then that I hadn't been.

"I, just, well . . ." I didn't know how to explain it.

"Don't bother, I just thought you might be willing to, ya know, mess around for a baggie now and then, when you can't afford it. You could, like, just use your hand. I can close my eyes and pretend whoever is there, ya know?"

"You've done it before with a guy."


"You've had guys trade some sex stuff for some grass before," I knew.

"Okay, yeah. Usually girls, but there was this guy who used to come around, he was gay, but not everyone knew it, and he would buy a bag without saying a word, just pay for it and pick out a bud and leave it with me and leave. He didn't have any friends, I don't think. But one time, he was coming to get a baggie, and I saw four kids jump him up by the road. They started hitting and kicking him. Keith was all laughing and shit, but I felt bad for him, and he was a regular customer.

"I ran up and chased the kids off and helped him up and on his bike. He was crying and bloody, right? But trying to act smooth. He said he was going to buy a baggie, but the kids got his money, so he was just going to go home. So, like Keith came up laughing and calling him a queer and stuff, and I got mad at him and I told Keith to go get lost. So I walked the kid back to the van. Used the sink to clean him up, right? One thing led to another, I guess, and, he, um, ended up sucking me off. All the way, ya know? And he did it awesome! Right? So I told him it was worth a small baggie and made that deal with him. He came back next week with money, but sometimes he didn't have any and we worked out the same deal. We called it credit, right?

"So, he stopped coming just after school ended last year. I think he moved or something. Anyway, it was just, you know, if you could do the same thing, or even your hand. But if you don't, that's totally cool, I don't want you think you have to or anything like that. And I ain't gay! But doing it yourself is boring compared to having somebody doing it for you.

"We'd come here, or sometimes we'd risk it in the parking area. Sometimes somewhere else."

"So, he did it as good as the girls?"

"Sure did. Way better'n some of 'em."

Tim had still not looked over at me since we had parked there. He was obviously having a hard time talking about the topic, and that proved how desperate he was for something other than his own hand. My body began preparing for sex. I liked the deal, and I was getting horny. I realized that I was about to jack Tim off, probably suck him off, and get a bag of grass for doing it.

"I just guess guys know what feels good, huh?" I said, knowing it full well.

"Probably. You ever been sucked off?"

"Yeah, this girl at the lake, it was the best!" I said, trying to sound like it had been the best thing ever.

"So, you know how good it feels?"

"Yeah, sure do!"

I did know how good it felt, as I had been blown by a girl, but it had been the guys later that had shown me how good it felt; several guys by then.

"So, what'd'ya think, Alex?"

"About the deal?"

"Yeah. Eighth for a hand-job?"

"And a quarter for a bee-jay," he added. "It's okay if not," he said suddenly, reaching for the ignition.

Time to sound like a typical guy, I thought. No reason to seem like a total fag. Better before it's too late! I had already asked for the deal.

"It's a deal."


"Yeah. Since you can keep a secret," I said, impressed that Tim hadn't used what I was sure that Jon had told him to force me into anything.

"If you're any good at it. I mean, I don't wanna be givin' away grass for a crappy, no-good  hand-job," Tim said, still looking out the windshield.

"Tell ya what. If it isn't any good, you can just tell me to stop. If it's good enough, then the eighth deal, okay?" I asked, hoping that I would be sucking Tim to a groaning orgasm, and earning that quarter of an ounce.

In the past year, I had learned from a master; I knew where to lick, where to stroke, and how to move lips and tongue when sucking a dick. I had gotten a lot of practice since, too. And I loved to do it.

"So long as you can do it right," he said, still looking forward and out the windshield.

"I've got some experience, okay?" I said as my guts churned for having done so.

"Yeah. I figured. You gay? Or like both?" Tim asked, finally looking over at me.

I had a hard time breathing. I blushed. After all that had already been said, then I blushed.

"I don't know. I've done girls and guys. Okay?"

After a long pause, still watching me, Tim asked, "You like one more than the other?"

"Maybe. I don't know," I said firmly. "I really don't."

"Okay, anyway, is it a deal?"

"Sure," I said, extending my hand.

He shook it, doing something with his fingers that surprised me. I laughed with him and he showed me how to shake regularly, then lock curled fingers and shake them, then break into a clap and reverse.

After I caught on, Tim said, "I'm glad this wasn't too hard to do. I didn't know how ta, ya know, bring it up."

I laughed, knowing how hard it had to have been for him to talk about.

I asked, "On the bed?"

"Yeah, lemme go first. I've led a dozen chicks back there and it's best I go first to lay down. What's your favorite band?" Tim asked, getting up from the driver's seat.

"Actually, I like that Queen one right there," I said, pointing at the brand new Live Killers eight-track.

Tim slid it into the player and moved to the back of the van. Once he was sitting down, he motioned me to come back. By the time I got there, Tim was laying on his back with his legs over the edge of the bed and his hands behind his head. The harsh chords of, "Sheer Heart Attack" were playing as I moved toward Tim, crouched in the low van.

Fucking cool! I thought as I knelt in front of him. I couldn't miss the big bulge in the short jeans as I asked, "So, you wanna undo your pants, or should I"

"I can get it," Tim said, quickly undoing his jeans and unzipping them. He pulled them open and revealed that he wore nothing under them, and that he was large and not yet entirely hard.

I watched as Tim pushed his jeans to his ankles and then laid back. Tim's cock was large, and it was pumping up larger by the second. The head was much like my own, an average cone with slightly flaring edges, a darker skinned area behind the head about a third of the way down, then normal flesh-colored skin behind that to his thick, dark bush.

I reached out with my right hand and wrapped my fingers around it.

Oh, this feels great! It's thick, sturdy, and warm. And so heavy! Roger's friends' were about this big! And a real nice bush, too! It's nice and straight and round, and the tube beneath stands out until near the head, like mine, too. But it's all on a bigger scale! It's like his fingers, hands and facial features had hinted; average shapes and a bit big. He not only fits the overall tendency, his data will fit into the average centerline, like me; just a bit on the other side of the average centerline.

His cock pulsed upward as I held it, growing longer and heavier, thicker and hotter. I cupped his low hanging balls in their slightly wrinkled sack and rolled them around. They were large and heavy. They didn't seem much larger than normal for a guy as old as Tim, but they were the largest I had ever held. I wondered how much cum Tim's nice big balls would spray out. His cock was fully erect by then, well over six inches long, and much thicker than mine. There was no sign of foreskin once it was fully hard.

The wedge of dark brown, curly hair was thick and full and blended with the hair that came down from his belly button. I stared at that hair, entranced by it. Roger and his friends had nearly as much hair, and I had liked that. I knew then that I liked a body with with a good amount of hair. Not just to look at in pictures, but I knew then that I liked them to rub and play with too. I momentarily wondered what it would be like when I got as much hair. Tim was older than any of my friends, even Tom's older brother Jon. I didn't think I was going to be very hairy, as there was no denying my redheaded heritage, even though my hair was mostly brown.

Tim didn't fit the mold in that he was hairy on his head, hairy on his belly, pubes and legs, but his chest, underarms, and face were very lightly hairy.

As my left hand played with Tim's balls, I watched Tim close his eyes and sigh. His nipples were always big and brown, but the pink middles were bigger and harder and standing up even further than usual. They were undoubtedly the largest and most prominent nipples I had ever seen. I had had no idea that the centers could stick out as far as Tim's did then. I imagined my fingers wiggling over them, playing with them.

I re-gripped Tim's shaft and stroked the way that Roger and his friends had taught me; just tight enough to move the skin around, tighter later on. I was going fairly slowly, I planned to go faster later on. My own cock was jerking against my shorts.

"Oh, man, do it just like that," Tim said after I had increased speed just a bit.

I wanted to make sure that he felt it was worth the grass. I also wanted to make sure that Tim wanted to do it again. I was keenly aware that we had little time. I kept the stroking even, smooth, not jerky. I was also concentrating on the sights before me, burning the images into my memory.

The pleasure I felt was intensified as I leaned closer to Tim's groin. My own groin flared with electric tingles, spreading throughout my body. My eyes took in the finest of details before me. I watched the almost round hole in the tip of Tim's head open and close as my fist moved up and down the long, thick cock. Even the creases and wrinkles of Tim's sack were burning into my mind's eye as his aroma wafted into my nose. His smell was musky and strong, and I liked it a bit, but not a great deal.

I rotated my hand so that my wrist would impact Tim's balls on each down-stroke on his cock to the beat of "We Will Rock You." I was careful to only tap them softly, so as to not cause any discomfort. Tim obviously enjoyed the sensation.

He's liking it! He's pushing his head back and trying not to groan! I can tell. And he's breathing fast already. And look at his heartbeat in the side of his neck! Shit, he's so into it! He likes what I'm doing so far. Time to make fucking sure sure of it, I said inside as I leaned down and took Tim's head through my lips. I sealed them around the edges and sucked the head only, making sure my lips stimulated the edges of his head as my hand kept stroking to the beat of, "We Are The Champions."

"Oh, shit, good!" Tim said, gasping.

By the end of the song, I was bobbing up and down on Tim's cock, from tip to near pubic hair, my fist following my lips, Tim nearly panting. I could see his lower abdomen, just above his bush, heaving. I pulled Tim's balls down and all around, playing with them like the new toys they were.

"Jeez, ungh, mmmmm" Tim was muttering, his breath rapid.

I wanted to make it last longer, and I could tell Tim was nearing the end, but I knew we didn't have a lot of time.

"Oh . . . sure . . . damn . . . you sure . . . ahhh . . . .don't stop, it feels great!" Tim said, never looking down.

The eight-track started over with one of my favorite songs, the first rendition of, "We Will Rock You." I sucked softly then strongly, using tongue and lips on and around his head. My fist began to pump his cock along with my lips again. My right hand never let go of Tim's balls, rolling and squeezing them. I loved the feel of the massive things. The size, the weight, the mass, the smoothness of the globes inside the skin pouch intrigued and delighted me. Tim had quite a few hairs on his sack, but spaced well apart and not covering it. I let the fingers of my left hand brush down into the bush, feeling the warm, hairy patch. I held the cock steady with my lips as my tongue ran over it.

As "We Will Rock You" came crashing to an end, I realized he was trembling and panting. His breath caught with each gasp. He sat half way up, then suddenly said loudly, "Ahh, oh, cumming!" as he pushed my head off him.

He didn't interfere with my hands as his orgasm began, only moving my mouth off. His pre-cum had filled my mouth with the salty taste a couple of teasing bobs earlier. I nearly resisted his efforts to push me away to swallow his cum, but I didn't want to appear that willing or wanting, and he was pushing me away. I kept jacking his cock, feeling it swell and pump. The first streamer hit my forehead as I was pushed away.

The second fired into a high arch and landed on Tim's pecs. They were thick streamers of ropey cum, and they spread out as they shot, wobbling as they flew. I felt his cock fire them. I jacked as the next rope shot out and landed near Tim's belly button. Another landed above his bush. At least two more barely shot out and ended up squished between my hand and his cock. I held onto Tim's cock tightly and felt it pumping as if he continued to post-orgasm dry-cum. It swelled and twitched very noticeably with each blank shot. A little more oozed out as I continued to stroke the big dick slowly, more feeling it than stroking it. It was twitching in my hand still as I made sure to milk Tim as much as he would allow.

All the squirts had been big, stretchy, ropey shots. I eyed every drop, every strand of the thick, white stuff on Tim's slightly tanned body, wishing I could lick them all up. I almost told him that I would have swallowed if he wanted, but it had happened too fast. I also didn't want to sound like a fag, even though I felt like one.

My hand continued milking Tim, the cum that had oozed out had collected in the web between my thumb and finger. I was very careful not to lose any of it. When Tim grabbed my hand and gently pulled it away, I had a nice collection of the warm cum on the web between my thumb and first finger.

He sat up and grabbed the paper towel nearby to wipe the cum off himself. He tore several sheets and handed them to me as if he were embarrassed. As he cleaned himself with his back to me, I wiped my forehead with my left hand and licked his warm, thick, musky cum off my right hand.

He stood up, slightly bent over in the van, and I glanced closely at his ass as it was mere inches from my face. It wobbled a bit as he cleaned up his front. It was nicely shaped, a bit soft, like most of him. The brown hairs on it were noticeable but sparse. His dark crack beckoned my tongue and fingers.

He bent down to pull his pants up, giving me a brief glance at the dark pucker in the shadows. My dick jumped and leaked in my shorts. Then he reached into the cabinet next to the bed. He pulled out a baggie and handed it to me without looking directly at me. I took the baggie, feeling a bit of regret, or shame at what I had just done for it. That lasted only a short time before I figured I had liked it quite a bit, and I was sure Tim had too. I used my left hand to handle the baggie, as my right still secreted a bit of Tim's cum.

Tim said, "Thanks. That was, uh, really worth it. You can pump this handle for water."

He demonstrated how the sink and faucet worked, then handed me the roll of paper towel before he headed up to the front of the van.

I quickly and secretly licked my fingers and palm clean, savoring the taste, feel, and smell of his warm cum before I used the sink. I tore some paper towels off the roll and dried my face and hands. I headed up to the front of the van and tossed the used towel out the window as Tim flicked a Bic and lit a cigarette, then turned down "Let Me Entertain You."

I noticed a smudge on my glasses, and when I took them off to examine them, not only had the lenses been smudged, but a small string of Tim's cum was on the right one. I put the baggie into my pocket and cleaned my glasses with my shirt tail.

I wonder if he knows how hard I am right now, I thought, pulling the shirt tail, stretching it, using it to hide the hard-on in my jeans as well as to clean my glasses. It's jerking down there like crazy! Nah, probably never crossed his mind.

"Did I do okay?" I asked as meekly as I could, putting my glasses back on.

"Yeah, it was great!" Tim said, finally looking at me. "I hope you don't feel bad about it, or anything?" he asked.

"Naw. It was kinda cool. I bet it felt great!" I said, widening my eyes on purpose.

I didn't have to work too hard at doing so. It had been an extremely fun experience. For the last month I had been wondering what it would be like to do that very thing. I had imagined his cock much like it really was, and my wildest fantasies rarely had as much cum, or such cool ropey strands as Tim really had. His body was as nice as I had hoped, or imagined. I liked it. I knew then, in Tim's van, after seeing and touching, smelling and tasting him, that I liked him, but I wasn't in love with him.

I was more than willing to get my dope on credit from that moment on, and I looked forward to making many more such deals.

"Thanks. I love head, man. Better than pussy, unless she knows how to use it real good!"

"So, can I give you a blow-job once in a while, instead of money?"

I was stunned at my bravery. I would never had thought I could have said something like that so easily, but I had.

"Sure. Anytime you ain't got the money, you just let me know, okay? If anyone is around, just tell me your cousin Mary asked about me, and I'll know what you mean, okay? And I'll try to arrange something. Okay?"

"Sure, cousin Mary asked about you. Got it," I repeated.

My cock was so hard that I thought it was going to break in half. It was bent down and left, caught between my thigh and the leg of my boxers. It was getting painfully pinched as it tried to free itself, which only stimulated it more. My sizeable balls were taking up most of the space down there, keeping the other leg of the boxers tight, and sitting down it was all painfully compacted. I decided that I would never wear boxers again.

"Tell ya what else. Instead of a courtesy bud or joint back at me? I'll smoke one with you. Least I can do," Tim said, picking a doobie from inside the visor.

"Cool. I didn't mind doing it, much," I lied.

"Cool, so you mind doing it again?"

"Naw, just as long as nobody finds out!" I laughed.

"Well, you can keep a secret, and so can I."

"I'm glad Jon can't" I tried.

Tim said, "Me too," then froze in the act of lighting the joint.

It had worked.

I knew that if Jon had told Tim about what we had done, then Jon wouldn't have mentioned swallowing, as Jon always gave me plenty of warning and pulled my head away before he shot; just as Tim had done. It sure looked like Jon had blabbed, even before I had tricked Tim.

"I know Jon told you," I said, watching Tim closely as he applied the flame to the end of the joint.

"How?" Tim barked after he inhaled.

"I just do, don't worry about it. And I don't care. I guess if he hadn't, I'd be home wishing I had some pot."

Tim lost his hit and laughed. "Probably too true. Though I would have fronted you, little man," Tim said, then took another hit before passing the joint.

"Yeah, but it would be forever before I got the money."

"Yeah. Guess it was good Jon said something."

"Can I ask what he said, exactly? I ain't mad, just wondering." I asked before hitting the joint.

"Okay. Don't be mad, he let it slip. He kind of caught me and Jesse one day. The guy I was telling you about, who did it before, ya know? Okay. Well, we had done it in the parking lot, and was just done, I still had my pants down on the bed and Jess was still handling it, and Jon snuck up and smacked the window, in fun, ya know, maybe scare me? He saw us, like that, and was like teasing us, but not bad. And he was nice to Jess, and told him he wouldn't tell, that it was okay with him. Jessie asked if he could do it to him, too, if he wanted. He said he would if Jon promised to not tell. Jon was cool about it. Told him he wouldn't say a word if he did or not. Jess was so scared, I thought he was gonna run away and not ever come back. In fact," Tim paused, as if he wanted to say something, but didn't know if he should. He finally went on, "I watched. Jess sucked it for him, right in front of me. So, when Jon was done, Jess smiled, few times I ever saw that, and said he wished we all had done it before, and said he wanted to do it to both of us at the same time some time. Jon said it was cool with him, I said okay. So, once, when we were all around, we did.

"Anyway, Jon and I got so stoned one night, he said he had two boys who liked to suck his dick. He said something about Jess giving good head, but his bro's friend was better. I knew he meant you. So, I thought, since you did Jon, sometimes, maybe . . ."

"Okay. Glad he slipped. It was fun! Yours is bigger than Jon's, by the way."

"It is? I thought his was bigger."

"Nope, I think you last longer, too," I laughed.

Holy shit why did I say so much? Shut the fuck up you idiot!

"I do? Well, that's good cause girls like you to last a long time, so I guess it's good, huh?"

"So they say. And your balls are way bigger!"

Oh, my, gawd, shut, up!

Tim laughed and started the van.

We chatted about further details of arranging deals, what kinds of pot he had around at what times, and how to get into contact with him when he was most likely alone. When we got to the A&P, and I had removed my bike from the van, Tim shook my hand and passed me a large joint from the drawer in the engine cover. With a wave, a nod and a smile, and while Queen was blaring out of the speakers, Tim peeled out of the parking lot, leaving more than tire smoke behind. I could only smile and wish I was that cool. I surreptitiously freed my painfully caught, still erect cock, and went into the store for a two-liter and a hoagie. I stuffed them into the pack and rode home with that song playing over and over in my head, along with the replay of the sex with Tim.

I didn't know why, but I hadn't wanted Tim to know I had sucked dicks before. It seemed to bother me, thinking of Tim knowing about the times I had before. There wasn't so much shame, as there was simple embarrassment. Tim obviously knew I had sucked Jon's dick at least once, but I wondered why it bothered me if Tim knew.

At home, after rolling a joint, naked and with a throbbing hard-on, I lay back onto the bed. I took my time, gently playing with it as I smoked the joint and looked through the magazine from under my mattress. I was staring at my favorite pictures in it, of a large blonde woman being fucked by two cute guys in red and white candy-striper/soda-jerk outfits. One guy was dark skinned, dark haired, hairy, and smallish. The other was a beauty. He was taller, a bit broader, his northern-European heritage obvious from his thick, light blond hair, his light eyebrows, body hair, and bush, and his long, thick, truly massive cock. The captions claimed nine inches; I could believe it. It was never completely erect, and I doubted that it did easily or often. It was just too large to fill with blood at a pressure high enough to make it stand erect.

The blond in the magazine was hot. I learned that I loved the Nordic and Northern-European guys with their blond hair and large builds. I felt that the moment I had seen the pictures the first time. Jon had given the magazine to me, expecting it back. Instead of returning it like I had all the previous, I lied to him, saying I had lost it at school. I simply had to have the images of that adorable Norwegian blond.

Once the joint had burned down too small to hold, I put the magazine down and started jacking myself off to thoughts of Tim in the van, replaying it yet again. I started getting body rushes. I felt as if I was suspended on gentle, rolling waves of warm, soft . . . water?

I smelled my hand, the one that had stroked Tim's cock, the one that had secreted Tim's cum until I had licked it off. I could smell the cum, now drying and peaty. I licked my hand a few times, but could no longer taste it as strongly. I made a loose fist of the hand and breathed in deeply through it several times. That brought the smell of Tim's earthy, musky scent into my nose, turning me on even more. My cock jumped and drooled in my loose, slow moving fist.

Another large portion of pre-cum welled up, and I collected it with two fingers, first smelling it then tasting it, licking my lips after rubbing it on them. I returned the hand to my cock and stroked it gently a few times by wrapping all of my fingers around it tight enough to move the skin up and down the shaft.

I let my mind see me taking Tim's cock in hand. I watched as I stroked Tim's cock and played with his large, full balls. I watched myself suck Tim off, feeling his cock on my tongue and between my lips again. Tasting and smelling it.

I watched again as Tim's cum flew through the air. I saw again each pulse of thick, white cum and felt its warmth on my fingers again.

A real man's cum, shooting out, and tons of it!

I had been delighted.

My own cock was twitching and making it clear that it wouldn't take long. It was intense that time, more powerful and raw, as if I hadn't done it days! I knew it would be a good cum, realizing that it had been hard and charged for nearly an hour without so much as a touch on it. I understood then just how many possibilities that knowledge opened up.

I switched to a lighter stroke, one where I only used a circle of my forefinger and thumb, barely touching the edges of my head as they slid over it and along my head, shrinking the diameter of the fingers to match the contours of my head right to the tip. I loved to try to extend that pre-cum charging time as long as possible. I loved how my body tensed, feeling it building to an orgasm. My feet and ankles extended, my toes curled upward.

Maintaining the slow, soft stroke, I pushed with my hips, slowly, not too fast, making my cock wait, not giving in to the temptation to pound it furiously.

It built, constantly, evenly, inexorably.

I floated above the bed as I felt my cum surging upward from deep down in my groin. My balls pulled upward. My hips jerked and locked upward.

No thoughts, only emotions and sensations existed there and then.

As my first emission arced over my belly button, I gasped and jerked my head backward into the pillow. My hips thrust upward in a sharp convulsion. I held there, frozen, not breathing, not stroking, only squeezing around the edges behind the head with my finger and thumb in that circle. I was steadily squeezing my balls in my other hand. I felt my asshole spasm shut again as the second shot occurred, feeling as if it were on fire, flaming through my cock. Though it landed at the top of my bush, it felt as if it went over my head. If I had my cock pointed toward my face instead of at the ceiling, I was sure it would have. The third and then the last barely left my fist, lubricating it for the slow, tender passes to come as the remaining semen oozed out and over my fingers and cock.

It took me long moments to come back down from that floating sensation and feel the bed below me. I still tingled in spasms of pleasure, one hand around my softening cock, the other cupping my balls. It was more long moments before cohesive thought could occur and I relaxed my hips and started to breathe again.

Playing with the cum that had landed above my navel, I wiped it up with two fingers, bringing it to my nose first, then my lips. My tongue cleaned lips then fingers.

So cool! I love cumming! Why does it feel so good? Is it just a coincidence that led to further reproduction and more children than for the ones without the trait? I wondered as I licked cum from my fingers. Or was it simply chemical responses to stimuli refined over the ages? Or was it a gift of a creator for creating more life? If it was, then why did it feel so good alone? Or with boys? If it's so bad to do with boys, then why let it feel so good all the time?

Who cares? It does! And I love it. Alone and especially with guys. And it was awesome tonight! The long wait after getting Tim off made it so intense! And it was a big surprise, too! And all that time with my cock stuck against my thigh in those fucking boxers. No more boxers. My balls go where they want in them! Briefs from now on! Thanks for making it possible for me to learn that, Tim. Hell, not just that boxers suck, but that taking more time makes it way better. And that taking a chance can lead to something pretty cool. And that you can hide smoking pot and being gay, even both; at least if it wasn't look for real hard. And for helping me see that I think I really am gay. And that older guys are totally hot!

Friday Afternoon: Preparations