Date: Sat, 02 Aug 2003 21:41:13 +0000 From: Brewster Hardy Subject: Ballard Boys Part 2 Ballard Boys Part 2 By Brewster Hardy The author claims all copyrights to this story and no duplication or publication of this story is allowed, except by the web sites to which it has been posted, without the consent of the author. This story is purely a work of fiction and any resemblance to person's living or dead, or to events that may have occurred, is purely coincidental. Moreover, none of the actions of the characters in this story is meant to condone, approve, or sanction their behavior. *Chapter 5* "I think I love you, so what am I so afraid of..." the sound of David Cassidy's voice coming from the kitchen radio woke him up. He squinted at the alarm clock. 9:30 AM. In mid-stretch, he froze, as memories of the previous night flashed through his mind. It seemed like some wild dream, yet he knew it had really happened. It was all way too much to think about for the moment, and he banished the images. Right now, his bladder was bursting, and he had the piss hard-on to prove it. Lying on his stomach, he allowed himself the fleeting gratification of grinding his hips into the mattress a couple of times. Hmmm -- the bladder was winning out. Half-reluctantly, he turned around, swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and forced himself to stand up. Looking down and seeing the form of his morning erection blatantly visible through the thin cotton of his underwear, he reached for an extra-long T-shirt and pulled it over his head before venturing to sneak a quick look around the room divider. Peering into the other half of the bedroom, he sighed with relief when he saw the empty bed. Of course, his brother would have been up and out at least an hour earlier. The younger Ballard boy made his way through the hallway, and downstairs to the kitchen. "Good morning, sunshine." "Morning, Mom." Grateful that she was facing the sink, he hurried past her, through the den and into the bathroom. He closed the door, reached into his tight jockeys, and grabbed the hard cock. "Ouch," he thought to himself, as he attempted to direct the uncooperative organ down towards the toilet. Waiting impatiently, he willed the bladder to release itself. Finally, there was a trickle, and then a flood. Only now did Ian begin to allow his mind to wander back to the events of the previous night: the talk, the candlelight, the electricity in the air, the thrill and the terror of the forbidden -- fuck -- Bob must think I am a total psycho freak. *Chapter 6* Focus, focus, focus you asshole...Bob repeated it in his mind like some sort of desperate mantra. The client had postponed yesterday afternoon's photo at the last minute; that's why his boss had sent him home early, and that's how the completely stupid chain of events had begun. They had rescheduled the session for this morning, and now he was scrambling to get everything organized. The main part of his summer job was straightforward and routine; be an affable salesclerk and sell the right film, lens or camera to the customer. Occasionally, however, his employer, Paul Roberts, would enlist his services as an "assistant-slash-apprentice". Today's assignment was what the 28-year-old British photographer categorized as a "vanity shoot". A local beauty, Jane Hardy, wanted to submit some shots to a New York modeling agency. Despite the fact that she was arguably the prettiest girl in high school, Bob didn't know if she would really stand much of a chance when stacked up against the pros, like those Vogue magazine cover girls. On the other hand, Paul was a great photographer; who knows.... In the meantime, Bob was rushing to make sure all the equipment was in order. He had been late for work this morning. Leaving his bedroom, the sight of his sleeping brother had stopped him in his tracks. The kid was lying on his stomach; the sinewy legs spread wide, muscular arms wrapped around his head, a tangle of shiny, dark hair. With sheets reduced to a jumble of cotton at the foot of his bed, only the gleaming white jockeys kept Ian from looking exactly like some exquisite fallen angel. How long had Bob stood there, hypnotized? Too long, apparently. Even now, in his desperate attempt to catch up, he could not rid his mind of the picture. In the clear morning light, it had been a stunning reminder of the previous night's recklessness. What the fuck was that all about? "Bob...are we almost ready?" Sliding a small case of filters into the large canvas gear bag, Bob answered, "Yup, I'll be right there." *Chapter 7* By 10:30, they had been on location at the riverbank for almost an hour. Jane had been performing well, but Paul felt he needed some fresh inspiration. Surveying the surroundings, his gaze fell on his young assistant. Bob was standing about twenty feet away, dreamy-eyed, doing his best to be unobtrusive, with the heavy equipment bag slung over his wide shoulders, hands gripping a tripod and an extra camera. "Bob...come here." The young man snapped out of his reverie, and shuffled nearer. Oh, boy, he thought, I sure hope Ian is OK... "Why don't you put the gear down, and sit in with Jane for a couple of shots?" "Huh?" "Yes, I think it might be fun." Bob looked from Paul to Jane. She smiled and shrugged. He gingerly laid the expensive equipment on a dry area of the bank. Walking toward the girl, he felt a little surge of something indefinable. For the past hour, Jane had been doing her best to project an aura of seductiveness and glamour for Paul's camera. Now the boy felt that essence begin to envelop him as he sat beside her on the riverbank. It was almost enough to take his mind away from worrying about his brother. "OK, Jane, I want you to move just behind Bob and wrap your arms around his shoulders. Bob, just try and relax -- why don't you focus on something on the other side of the river -- YES, that's great!" Click. Click. Click. Once again, a graphic replay of last night's events began rolling through his thoughts. Hey -- was that her nipples he felt against his shoulder blades? "Beautiful. Bob, I'd like you to undo some of your shirt buttons - - actually, all of them, right down to your waist - great -- now, spread your legs apart and lean your head back against Jane - perfect - - Jane, lean into his ear as if you're whispering to him -- yes!" Click. Click. Click. Her warm breath teased his sensitive earlobes. Ian had been sucking on his finger when he... That was definitely her hard nipples. Her breasts -- fuck -- he felt the beginning of an erection -- goddamn... Click. Click. Click. Was she blowing in his ear? He's my BROTHER, for chrissake... OK, now his cock was reaching full hard-on status. Fuck. Not daring to look down at his crotch, he kept his head leaning back onto the girl's shoulder and tried to think about natural disasters, war, traffic accidents, anything gross or unpleasant... Was that her tongue? Click. Click. Click. *Chapter 8* Looking at the contact sheets in mid-afternoon, Paul was pleased. He had been a passionate photographer since boyhood, and he felt these shots were unusually good. The girl had something ineffable, yet earthy. He turned to the next sheet, and felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck. It was the final shots -- the shots with the kid. It was as if Jane had become invisible. The boy, inexperienced and vaguely uncomfortable, seemed to jump off the page. Even in these tiny images, it was pure magic -- hot. Paul had never seen anything quite like it -- gorgeous, built, sexual, yet somehow haunted and vulnerable... My god, what was that? It must be a trick of the light, he laughed to himself, the way the denim jeans looked in the crotch area -- if I didn't know better, I'd swear he was hung like the proverbial racehorse -- must be a trick of the light... He looked up, and saw Bob on the other side of the shop, doing his day-end chores. "Bob." "Yeah?" "You should look at these." The boy came over, and quickly scanned the page. "What am I looking for?" he asked. Paul paused. The kid obviously had no clue. "You photograph unusually well. That's a gift. Have you ever had a serious photo session?" "No," he laughed, "It never crossed my mind." "Would you be interested in trying?" "Seriously?" "Yes." "Well, sure, I guess -- why not?" Bob was a little confused. "I mean - when -- where?" "Are you busy this evening?" He was supposed to get together with Annette, but that was later. "Not really." "Why don't you come back here around seven o'clock? I'll have the studio set up and ready. It shouldn't take more that a couple of hours." Bob was not quite sure what to make of this turn of events. Oh, well, as his Dad always said, never say never. "Sure -- sounds good..." "I'll finish up here. You can go on home. I'll see you at seven." "Right." Paul watched as the boy turned and went out the door. Intriguing - - very intriguing... *Chapter 9* Sitting at the head of the dinner table, Jerry Ballard felt the air was thick with tension. There was none of the bantering or teasing he had come to expect from his two boisterous, strapping sons. Last night had been a little odd too, come to think of it, but tonight seemed even worse. Absentmindedly scratching his black, close-cropped beard, he made another attempt at basic communication. "So, Bob, how was work today" "It was alright..." End of conversation - OK -- try again... "Ian, what did you do all day?" "Not much..." The boys seemed to be avoiding eye contact with each other. What the hell was going on here? He looked down the length of the table to his wife. Trish just rolled her eyes and shrugged her shoulders. OK, let's try this... "Hey, guys, tomorrow's Saturday. Why don't the three of us go up to Fraser Falls? We can hike for a bit, go swimming -- and give your mother a break from all this testosterone." "Sure." "OK." Less than enthusiastic, but at least it was a response... "Sounds great to me," said Trish, smiling, "'though I'll miss having you big hunks around, bugging me every two seconds." It struck Jerry that it had been too long since he and the boys had had a proper father-and-sons session. He smiled, remembering the time when Bob, aged twelve, was preparing for his first "grown-up" gym class. ************ Jerry had been out back, working in the yard, when the boy came up to him, hands behind his back, looking somewhat sheepish. "Dad..." "Yes, Bobby..." "I need to ask you a question." "Go ahead." "It's kind of personal" Suddenly alert, Jerry did his best to remain offhand and casual. "Yeah? Do you need my help with something?" "Uh-huh -- this." Bob brought his hand out from behind his back, and presented his father with a brown paper bag. Jerry took the bag and, opening it, found a small box that clearly held an athletic supporter. Suppressing a grin, he asked, "Did you buy this yourself?" "Uh-huh." "It's for gym class, right?" "Uh-huh." "Great. So what's the problem?" "I don't think I'm putting it on right." "Why do you say that?" "It just doesn't feel right or something..." his young voice trailed off in embarrassment. Jerry thought for a second, and then said, "Come with me." He led his son into the house, through the kitchen, and upstairs to the boys' bedroom. Seating himself on Bob's bed, he said, "OK, go ahead and try it on." Now wanting to die of embarrassment, the boy turned around to face the wall. With his back to his father, he quickly took off his jeans and under-shorts. Jerry couldn't help beaming as he silently watched the unveiling of the exquisite preteen physique. His son was still in the relatively early stages of puberty, but it was already obvious that the kid was going to be a looker, no question about it. He watched as young Bobby put his bare feet through the straps of the supporter and then pulled the garment up over his narrow, beautifully formed little hips. No problem so far -- Jerry was puzzled. Bob slowly turned to face his Dad, and Jerry immediately saw what the dilemma was. Of course, he mentally chastised himself, I should have realized... The boy had put the jockstrap on in exactly the right manner. The issue was another matter altogether. Jerry could plainly see that, although the undergarment was a perfect fit in all other regards, there was no way on god's green earth that the little boy-sized pouch was going to be able to contain what was clearly man-sized equipment. The kid's prematurely developing cock and balls were straining the elastic mesh to overflowing, and must have felt excruciatingly uncomfortable. Chip off the old block, thought Jerry. Willing away yet another grin, he said, "Bobby, you just bought the wrong size." "But Dad, the package says..." "I know, I know," Jerry said, hurriedly glancing at his watch, "I'll explain later. Tell you what -- I'm gonna run down to the mall, right now before they close, and get you a proper one." An hour later, Trish was at her sewing machine, adjusting the waistband and leg-straps of a man's large-size athletic supporter. Having done the same thing a number of times for her husband, she knew the drill. ************ Jerry, still smiling, snapped himself back to the present. In the intervening years, according to his wife, "the seamstress", Bob had moved up in size to an XXL, the same size Jerry wore. Ian, apparently, was still making do with an XL. Yes, it was definitely time to spend a day with his boys. Bob suddenly moved to get up from the table. "Um, may I be excused?" "Of course," said Trish, "What's up?" "Oh, not much -- um, I promised Mr. Roberts that I'd help him in the darkroom tonight." The lie escaped his lips before he had a chance to stop it. Perhaps it was because he was feeling a little embarrassed by the idea of "modeling". Certainly, it was not really his sort of thing. Whatever, it was 6:40, and he had to get to the studio. "Don't be too late," said his father. "I want to get an early start tomorrow." "Sure, Dad..." And with that, he was out the door. *Chapter 10* Ian looked up, and watched Bob leaving. It was terrible, feeling so unexpectedly uncomfortable around his brother. It was also a drag not having a summer job. Finding ways to kill time, day after day, was getting extremely boring. He had spent the better part of the morning trying to call friends, but nobody seemed to be home. Finally, he had decided to hitchhike to the beach. It usually took about half an hour or so; if he hurried, he'd be there by 1:00. He had run upstairs to the bedroom, quickly changing into his favorite, frayed cut-offs. The denims barely covered the top half of his thighs, but his jockey shorts kept everything in place, so that wasn't an issue. Suddenly remembering his aborted experiment of the previous day, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband, wriggled and squirmed a bit, and managed to work the tight, faded shorts down a few inches, exposing just a little more of the rock-hard abs he was so proud of. Problem. The white jockeys were now visible above the denim waistband. That's no good, he thought. Then he realized that, with the waist in the new, lower position, the legs were also riding lower. It just might be possible to get away with no underwear. He hurriedly undressed and then, leaving the jockeys on his bed, pulled the denim shorts back on. Normally, because of the size of his endowment, he would never consider going without underwear. There were simply too many wayward erections with which to contend. Today, however, he was feeling a little reckless and dangerous. Moreover, his long T-shirt should cover any developing problems. As he arranged himself in the low-riding shorts, so that everything was hanging to the left, he felt a little tingle of excitement. Flashing back to last night, he thought, well I may not be quite as big as Bob yet, but I sure as hell have nothing to complain about. He zipped up, shoved his red Speedos in a back pocket, threw a towel around his neck, and ran out the door. Twenty minutes later, he was in the back seat of a station wagon, dodging three screaming kids and a dog. Happily, the vibrations of the car seat were giving him a semi- erection, and he allowed himself to enjoy the sweet distraction. By the time the little family dropped him off, he had to carry the towel in front of his crotch to hide the fully hard cock, but after a 5-minute walk down the gravel lane to the beach, it had pretty much subsided. Whew. Now and again, dealing with his independently minded dick was like being on a runaway rollercoaster -- kind of entertaining and thrilling, but horrifying and nerve-wracking all at the same time. Just before the beach, there was a wooded area, with lots of bushes and heavy undergrowth. Ian parted some branches, and made his way through the shaded, green zone in order to change into his Speedo in private. He unzipped the cut-offs, and was half bent over, pulling his feet through, when he thought he heard a sound coming from nearby. He froze for a second, and then turned around slowly. Temporarily forgetting about his bare butt, he quietly raised one of the overhanging branches, and, as he peered into the small, hidden clearing, his mouth fell open in wonder. From a distance of about ten feet, he was looking directly at the profile of Doris Campbell, a girl in Bob's class. She was kneeling on the ground, wearing only the panties part of a purple bikini. Ian could see almost all of her tits, except the part obscured by her arms, which were reaching up and holding onto Gary Pringle's saliva-drenched cock, which was pumping in and out of her mouth. Standing beside Gary was Scott Thomas, who, like Gary, had his swimsuit pulled down to his thighs. Scott appeared to be watching the other two, while slowly stroking a respectably sized hard-on. As Ian watched, Scott moved in behind Doris and, bending down, began to pull off the rest of her bathing suit. Relinquishing Gary's cock for a moment, she stood up and removed the panties herself. Everyone was being so quiet it was eerie. Now, Doris was lying on her back, and Scott was climbing between her legs. Ian, careful not to make a sound, was caressing his own suddenly forceful erection. Scott's cock entered the girl, and his hips began to thrust rhythmically. Gary was kneeling over her head, and she resumed hungrily sucking his dripping shaft. Ian spit into his hand as silently as possible. Mixing the saliva with his generously flowing pre-cum, he massaged the throbbing head of his cock, quivering with the incredible sensations overpowering his entire body. Grabbing his churning balls with the other hand, he squeezed and pulled on them harshly while staring in utter fascination at Scott's cock, then Gary's, as the two older teens writhed in ecstasy. Meanwhile, Doris had begun rapturously massaging her clitoris, adding another stage of pleasure for herself, as the two overheated, powerful 18-year-old cocks serviced her mouth and cunt and she reveled in that uncommon extravagance. Suddenly, a gurgling sound emerged from her throat, and now Scott's hips were hammering into her furiously, while Gary's' entire being appeared to be convulsing. It was all too much for Ian, now violently pounding his out of control, massive erection while watching and listening to the three teenagers attempting to suppress a chorus of whimpers and groans. He shuddered, and covered his mouth with his left hand as semen shot forcefully from his cock head, again and again and again... ...to be continued Please feel free to let me know what you think of the story so far. There are more installments coming soon. brewsterhardy@hotmail.com