Written By: Justin Case
Edited By: Ed
Disclaimer: The chapter you are about to read is fiction. It was created in the mind of the author, and any similarities to real life are purely coincidental. This material contains sexually graphic language and is intended for adults. The story is about young gay love. If this type of subject matter offends you, you are invited to stop viewing it now. The writer, his editor, and publisher accept no responsibility for the actions of the reader. Persons viewing this tale must do so legally; in accordance to the laws that govern them. This material is the property of the writer, and is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. No copies may be reproduced in any fashion without the permission of the publisher.ãJCPCo2002
SoapBox:âHow you all doing? Good I hope. Me, I'm the same, no worse for my wear. I want to share something with you all, something that I regard as personal. I know many of you write me and tell me how much you like my stories, but to be quite honest, the voices in my head from years gone by are often too loud, and I feel tremendously insecure about my work here. As I click on my mouse to send my stories to Nifty or post them on my own site, the screams and shouts that tell me `I'm wasting my time' overwhelm me.
Years of physical and verbal abuse by my stepfather cling to me, and haunt at me. These feelings of inadequacy are hard to let go, so I write. I write in an effort to cleanse myself of the ghost-like memories, turning them into something I can understand. The current chastises and tongue-lashings tell me I spend too much time on the computer, and ask `for what?'
My answer is simple. I do this for you, and I do it for me. If you have any comments about my work, please write me at Justin69SK@aol.com and if you'd like to view my website go to http://Justinscorner.homestead.com
Thanks for letting me share.
`He'll never love you. What are you, sick, some kind of pervert?' Bright lights flashed in his mind, as the voices circled around like vultures in a desert sky. It was all too real, all too familiar, he felt a throbbing pain throughout his body, he tried to call out to the demons, but no sound was uttered.
Visions of Jim danced around with the large ugly birds of prey. The comforting soft brown eyes of his best friend pierced through him. `That pain, that deep pain, where is it coming from?' his own voice called out in his dreamlike state; he wondered where he was. He tried to scream, but the constant bursts of light blinded him, and his mouth wouldn't open. The pain he felt wracked through his body, it was unbearable, blackness and emptiness took their hold, he fell into a deep state of unconsciousness.
"Is he going to be alright?" Matt asked the middle-aged man in the baggy turquoise colored pants and shirt.
"He's lost a lot of blood, the horn ripped through his spleen, we had to remove it. The next twenty four hours are critical, we'll know better in the morning."
Doctor Anderson was the name on the identification tag worn on the left breast of the loose fitting surgeon's garment. He was about fifty years old, and Chief of Surgeons at Massena Memorial Hospital. Donald, as he was affectionately called by most that knew him, was a warm and gentle man. One of the finest general surgeons in St. Lawrence Valley, and respected member of the community, he knew Matt from the Chamber of Commerce.
Matt paced the cold tiled floor; he couldn't shake his fears. Fears for young Randy's health, and fears his farm insurance would be canceled. `Why had he left Charlie out overnight?' he kept asking himself.
Charlie was the almost two thousand pound Jersey bull that Matt had purchased the year before. While the Jersey cows are docile, the bulls are often ornery and unpredictable. Charlie had always been a problem since his first day on the farm, when he busted through the back wall of the barn. The top of his large overgrown head stood over six feet off the ground, his horns had a span of almost four feet tip to tip. The massive creature's color and breeding abilities are what attracted Matty; Charlie was a deep, rich, reddish brown. His markings on his face were of tan, and striped down from the hollow between the horns to his large pink snout. `Picture perfect,' Matty had thought when he made the deal to buy the bull.
Matty decided he'd go into the waiting room, he needed to talk to Randy's mother. She wouldn't go into the room, she feared seeing her young son with tubes and wires, she had said. He knew Jim was home worrying, he had to leave Jim back at the barn to tend the ladies. `I'll call home as soon as I put Mary at ease,' he reasoned with himself as he slowly pushed the swinging door to the sterile room open.
Jim and Carol were back in the barn, silently milking the cows. Jim was preoccupied with feeling responsible for what had happened. `If only I hadn't teased him about Monica. I'll never forgive myself if something happens to Randy.' The guilt-ridden thoughts flooded through his mind, he couldn't stop them. `I wonder if God is punishing me for what I did with Steve?' was another call he kept hearing that continued the assault on him. He wished that Steve had come out to help in the barn, but he said he was too tired and needed more sleep.
The only sounds heard while Jim and his aunt diligently attended the milking chores were the occasional moos, and the constant dull clanking followed by the wheezing sounds the milk machine produced. Every now and then the ringing of the chains worn by the milkers hitting on the metal bars they were attached to could also be detected.
Carol was still half-asleep as she washed the teats, and fed the animals. She worried about Randy, and her husband. She knew the business, and feared the additional costs from insurance could only further the losses they would suffer this year, due to the large payment due on the milking machine. Carol wouldn't verbalize these thoughts with Matty; she'd keep them to herself when she did the books. She knew how serious a significant rise in costs could be, crippling to the farm this year, more than Matt did. `I can't tell him, and besides I don't know yet how bad the increase will be. He has too much to worry about with being the newly elected President of the Farm Bureau,' she told herself.
Jim walked down the main aisle of the barn, hooking each cow to the machine, one after the other. His mind flurried with the thoughts of guilt and the pictures of the accident. He saw the blood pooling around his young friend's body in the darkened sky. Snapshots of Randy's face as he lay in the wet, overgrown grass motionless, flicked through his mind like slides on a screen. `As soon as I'm done, I'm going to the hospital, I'll bring Steve with me.' He finally smiled as he thought about it, remembering his new car and power of freedom.
"Morning, where's Matt?"
The baritone voice with the French Canadian accent cut into both Jim and Carol's deep thoughts. It was Matt's father; he had come to spread the manure. Startled not to find his son, because he knew that something terribly wrong was the only thing that would keep Matt from his job. He looked to Carol for an explanation, while his heart quickened its beat.
"There's been an accident. Charlie stampeded poor little Randy, he's at the hospital."
Jim still said nothing. He saw the flashing red and white lights in his head, the ones from the shiny red ambulance with gold lettering on its side that had taken Randy. He remembered the two men in the bright white clothing, but couldn't have described their looks if asked. The two men put his friend onto the stretcher and took him away, slamming the rear door to the vehicle as Jim cried out Randy's name.
"Is the boy all right?" Mr. LaPointe asked Carol.
"He was unconscious when they took him, looked like he lost a lot of blood. Matt wanted me to ask you to bring Charlie into the barn. He had let him out last evening, number thirty seven was showing, he fell asleep in the chair again last night and forgot to bring Charlie in," Carol explained, feeling the need to defend her husband at the same time.
"Damn Jerseys, I told him that when he wanted to buy it."
"You should probably go now and bring him in, before you do the spreading. Jim has a city boy over and I wouldn't want another accident."
"Yeah, I'll go do that now, and then come back and help finish up with the milking."
Carol watched as her father-in-law worked the hitch from the spreader off the tractor. She feared he'd be rough with Charlie, Matt really didn't like his father around the animals; he was too abusive with them. Her mind, like Jim's, began seeing snapshots. Only the sights she pictured were of Mr. LaPointe beating various cows with pitchforks and broom handles, anything handy was a weapon when he became angered. She imagined him trying to run the large bull down with the large tractor, but was helpless to do anything herself. She heard the motor of the old red tractor roar as it sped away from the barn.
Finally, after almost three hours late, the milking was done. Jim was free and his only thoughts remained on Randy. He stripped his barn boots off in the milking house, and left Carol to tend the machine as he ran towards the back door to the farmhouse. He never said a word.
He quickly took a shower and went into his bedroom. Steve was still sleeping on his bed; he looked down at his new friend and shook him gently. He saw the sunlight peeking through his bedroom window, casting its morning hues across Steve's naked torso. The sheets were wrapped tightly around his friend's waist, his muscular arms at his side.
"Steve, Steve. Wake up, we got to go."
He shook Steve some more. Steve began to stir in the bed; his dark eyes opened and drank in the sight of Jim sitting next to him. He drew his right hand to his eyes and rubbed the sleep away. He stretched his sheet half-clad body, and yawned. His head was still groggy from the lack of sleep he normally got. Yet, he managed a smile, and flashed it at Jim.
"Morning. What's the rush? Let's play, we have the room to ourselves," Steve tried to convince Jim.
"No, not now, come on, we have to go to the hospital and see how Randy's doing."
Steve threw the white cotton sheets off the lower half of his body, exposing his naked body and raging hard on for Jim to see. He reached his right hand down to his cock and pushed it downward to show it off. His eyes took on a puppy dog look, as he tried to convince Jim otherwise. With his left hand he began to rub Jim's cock through the tight white jockey underwear he was wearing.
Jim felt his own dick begin to swell as it became aroused at the probing hand. He closed his eyes and surrendered himself to his desire to be loved and touched. He lay down on the bed, next to his horny naked friend, and hugged him tightly while he kept his eyes shut. His whole body was on fire as he pulled at the elastic waistband of his Fruit of the Looms down so his own cock would be free. He felt Steve's hot cock brush against his; the sensations were too much for him to stop.
"Yeah, that's it, you love it and you know it," Steve's voice whispered in Jim's head.
Jim put his hand around the back of Steve's head and pulled it towards his own, he kissed at Steve wantonly. He nibbled on Steve's lips and pushed his tongue into Steve's moth. He kept his eyes firmly closed as he basked in the feelings of being wanted. He rubbed his hard dick against Steve's and felt the excitement grow in his loins.
"Yes, that's it, rub my cock with yours. Oh yesssss," Steve continued coaxing Jim.
Steve reached his hand down between the two of them, and wrapped it around the two dicks, holding them together tightly while they pumped against each other. He wanted to feel Jim's mouth sucking on him. He shoved Jim's head away from his mouth, and pushed it down towards his rock hard cock. His dick was already soaked in pre-cum; he could feel it in his hand as he held onto the cocks.
Jim willingly positioned himself with Steve's cock at his face. He could smell a pungent odor from the sex the two had had twice earlier. It was a sharp, bitter aroma, which clung to his nostrils, but it didn't stop him from diving onto the smelly cock and taking it into his mouth. He was delirious with lust, and overcome with a desire to be loved. He bathed the hot dick in his mouth, as he stroked it with his hand.
"Yeah, suck my cock. That's it, you love my hard cock fucking your mouth."
Steve continued his verbalizations as he just watched Jim sucking on his dick. He pumped his hips, thrusting the hard dick into Jim's mouth, and used his hands to push Jim's head up and down the blood filled shaft. He did nothing to pleasure Jim; he just pleasured himself with Jim.
"Yeah, suck it. Suck my hard cock. Yeah, that's it, nice and slow, all the way down," Steve said as he pushed Jim's head all the way onto his cock.
Steve began to feel his orgasm building in his balls. He could feel the hot juice as it pumped into Jim's mouth. He shoved his cock all the way into Jim's mouth, holding his head firmly in his hands so there was no escape. He envisioned his hot white cum shooting down Jim's throat.
Jim felt his own cock shoot its load on the bed below him. He hadn't even touched it, but the excitement was too much and he busted his nut, busted without touching his dick. He had craved Steve's hand on it, or his mouth, but it didn't happen. After he came, he felt dirty and cheap.
He slowly withdrew from Steve's cock that had been impaled into his throat. He felt the thick cum, it lingered on the walls of his throat, and he began to gag. Jim took in a deep breath to relax, and it worked. He slowly got up off the bed, guilt began to set in again. He slowly dressed, not saying a word to Steve.
"Man, you are one hell of a cocksucker," Steve said, as he rubbed his softening, sticky cock, and slowly got out of the bed.
Steve looked on the floor for his underwear. He found them under the bed. He slowly pulled them up his legs. `Man, this guy is a fucking fag, just like those boys in juvy, if I didn't need him for his ride...' he thought to himself as he grabbed his clean clothes off the chair. Clothes in hand, he began to head for the bathroom to take a shower. When he reached the bedroom door he turned and looked at Jim.
"Hey, you still got pot? I'll roll a joint so we can smoke it before we go see Randy."
He didn't wait for a response, he closed the door quietly behind him as he walked into the kitchen. His clothes still were in his hand; wearing only his white jockey shorts he strutted into the bathroom.
Jim stared at the door for several minutes in silence, tears streaming down his face, he finally stumbled to his bed and cried his eyes out.
"Randy, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," he chanted to himself out loud.
Thanks for reading. I hope you send me your comments. The addy is Justin69SK@aol.com
Thank you, Ed, for the edit.
But not forever,