Date: Mon, 11 Feb 2002 20:04:53 +0000 From: Java Biscuit Subject: Back to the Playground, 10 This is a story involving boy/boy, teen/boy, male/male graphic sex and not intended for reading by minors. If you are underage, or this type of material is illegal where you live, please stop now, and go read something else! This is a completely fantasized story meant only for the purpose of pleasurable reading. It explores themes which some readers may find offensive or disturbing. It's not meant to encourage unsafe, unprotected sex, or to condone sex with minors. Feedback: javabiscuit@hotmail.com Back to the Playground ~ chapter ten by Biscuit My inheritance was substantial. It didn't launch me into the ranks of the upper class, but it did give me enough money to live on, comfortably. All three of my siblings were suddenly attentive. The money was more substantial than any of them had ended up with. Time was the thing. While I was too young to touch it, money from my dad, his family, and my mom, had grown through no virtue of my own, to become a much bigger sum than any of my siblings had gotten. Even Greg got in touch with me for the first time in forever to tell me what he thought I should do with the money. Lisa, Karl, and of course, Helen, all had their own ideas of how I should invest it. I ended up taking Karl's advice. He seemed to be doing well enough with the choices he'd made and he was the one I trusted. I'd put off doing anything for quite awhile. But Skyler was gone, my life of seeing him, planning to see him, of thinking about when I'd see him again was wide open without any excuse to put off decisions any longer. I finally agreed to meet with somebody from the firm that Karl recommended. Though not a heavy hitter, it seemed I rated my own financial advisor. The last thing in the world I expected was to see my childhood rise up before my eyes in the person of Joshua Secunda. I wasn't unique in my family for not having any friends from my youth. Moving as often as we had, none of us had friends from our childhood. Too hard to keep up through all the changes. Skyler and Trent were the longest standing relationships I'd had in my life, except for my brothers and my sister. Though I'd thought about the boys from Baltimore through the years, it never occurred to me to try to make contact with them. Gone, part of the past. I'd have known him by name if they'd said it to me, but this fellow, Joe Davis, who met with me first, said that one of his colleagues would be in to talk with me, leaving me in a general conference room. I guess Josh was too junior to rate his own office. Made sense they were passing me off to a rookie. I didn't exactly have a huge fortune to invest. I was sitting at a big empty round table, nervous because it was all so formal. I felt out of place. I'd braided my hair tight and worn the only pants I owned that weren't jeans. It was like a doctor's visit, a chore to be gotten through for me. An expert would tell me what to do, and I'd do it. I guess he'd done well for himself to be working at an investment firm in New York. I don't know about things like that. He was twenty-seven. I knew him the minute I saw him; the grown version of his twelve year old self. Tall, broad shouldered, the same wheat blond hair, now short and sleekly styled. He wore a wedding band. He came through the door, frowning, eyes down on the file in his hands. I wonder if he was just then seeing my name and trying to place it. He looked up, saw me, and paused, standing still right inside the conference room door. "Brandon Kirsch," he said, gazing at me like he was trying to focus. I realized my mouth was open and closed it, swallowing hard. "Josh." "Brandy?" It was like falling through the rabbit hole. The last time I'd seen him, I was eight years old. He'd been Skyler's age, fourteen. The club had dissolved by then. I'd continued to have sex with all three of those boys, but mostly with him. I felt scared and aroused, staring at the guy who'd fucked me when I was eight years old. We'd done it only a few times. Between the time my dad died and we moved out west. Looking at him in his sharp business suit, I saw the boy he'd been, the boy I'd loved in spite of everything. "I'm sorry to learn that you lost your mom," he said, as formal as a funeral director. He sat down with the sheaf of files and opened the first one, looking at me as if I were just a client. I don't know how I managed my way through that meeting. I hid behind the solid wall made up of talk about investments, real estate, his recommendations, his review of my holdings. My eyes fell to the desk, avoiding his. If the past was nothing to him, I was not going to show him I felt any differently. Had he forgotten the things he'd done to me? Oh God. To whatever he proposed, I more or less nodded agreement. I knew nothing and cared less about what was done with my money. If he'd made bad suggestions I'd have no way of knowing. My mind wandered, in spite of me, wondering about Philip and Lauren. I wanted to ask but I held my tongue; afraid of saying those names. "Very good," he said to me, finally, closing his folders. "I think we've made progress." It sounded like an end note. "Are we done?" I asked, glancing up at his face, briefly. "For now, with this. Are you busy for lunch?" he asked. Blushing is such a fucking drag, I hate how easy it comes to me. "You mean, now?" I asked stupidly. For the first time, his face betrayed intimacy. It was in his eyes, he was amused by my coloring up. His eyes were a much lighter blue than Skyler's. Cool, where Skyler's were warm. I would have given anything right then for Skyler to be in that room with me. How pathetic to be wishing I had the protection of a fourteen year old boy at my side. I guess Daryl's not the only one who thought that kid was stronger than I am. "Now," he laughed, and I was six years old again, caught like a mouse in a trap. "Business before pleasure. I think we did a pretty good job with the business. Let me buy you lunch, and we can talk. Better yet, I'll make lunch for you. Give me a minute or two to wrap things up and I'll meet you at the elevators." Had I even said yes? Did it matter? He wasn't even going to bother buying me lunch before fucking me. They call a place like that a pied a terre, I think. A place somebody keeps in town for convenience. Josh shared the rent for it with another guy he worked with. His wife was at home in New Jersey. The apartment was just blocks from his office. I can't plead ignorance. Once we hit the blustery street, walking at a good clip, his hand on my shoulder, every trace of business was gone. "You look so fucking good, Brandy," was the first thing he said to me when we got outside. Jesus. His hand was on my shoulder, thumb digging into my tensed muscle like some kind of professional masseur as we walked. I thanked God for the chill breeze stealing heat from my face. I remembered sleeping with Josh. Telling my mom I was staying over with Philip. Philip and I played and joked around but it was Josh's bed I slept in. I'd been scared but so excited when he fucked me. It had hurt, like taking a hard shit in reverse. I never told him how bad it was, I didn't want him to think I was some kind of baby. He had a girlfriend back then, but he told me, that first time, that I was his real girlfriend. I'd felt so proud. Back to the present, alone with him in the elevator. His place was on the twentieth floor of the building. I stepped away from him, to look at him, remembering. "Is Phil okay?" I asked him. "Sure. He's still in med school, Michigan." "How about Lauren?" Josh laughed at me, closing the distance again, his arm circling my waist. "No idea. He's teaching somewhere. Brandy, what's the deal with the long hair?" "No big deal," I said. His hand had dropped down my braid to my ass. I should have opened my mouth and told him my hair was long because my boyfriend liked it that way. I should have opened my mouth and told him to back off. But I didn't. The elevator door opened and he guided me out with his hand halfway between my waist and my ass. Part of me couldn't believe how free he felt to touch me, and part of me accepted it as his right, like I had when I was six years old. I was aroused by it, for sure, even though I was as nervous as a cat. I'd gotten hard from him touching me as we'd walked and my dick was battling my underwear. God, he was a polished thing, groomed and buff. I felt self conscious. I hadn't been naked, except with Skyler, since I'd fucked Trent when I was fifteen. The guys I'd gotten down on my knees for didn't count. I didn't know them. They'd never seen my body, I'd only seen their dicks. Josh was like a steam roller, hot pressure from the start. The apartment was small, a studio filled with a big wrap around sectional sofa and a bed. A bar, small galley kitchen. Not that he showed me around. That's what I gathered between close ups of his face. I'd say he back pedaled me to that bed in a handful of seconds from opening the door. And he was out of his smart clothes in another handful of seconds. "You didn't grow up big, Brandy, but you grew up nice," he said, starting on my clothes as soon as he was done with his. My shirt was hanging off and my baggy pants slipped down my legs as soon as he opened them. I was still in my briefs, well Skyler's briefs. I'd inherited them when he switched to boxers. I liked wearing them, thinking of him. "Hang on, a minute," I said, feeling awkward and twisted up in cloth, like everything was racing a whole lot faster than I wanted it to. Josh grinned, he kissed me hard, thrusting his tongue into me like he wanted to wash my tonsils. I pushed him away, trying to pull in a deep breath. "Josh," I was close to pleading with him to slow down. Not that pulling back and looking at him was any less scary. He was six foot or more and looked like he spent every night in the gym. God only knows how he found the time to cheat on his wife and work out. I felt like a gawky, scrawny kid, standing in front of him, struggling with my shirt cuffs, with Skyler's snowy white briefs trapping my hard dick. "I like that," he said. I didn't know what he was talking about until he stopped me undoing the shirt cuffs, crossing my wrists behind my back. He wrapped my shirt in a loose knot around them. The first thing I thought was that he'd have croaked if I'd done that to his shirt. Then his hands ran up my arms, fingernails raking a rash of goose bumps across my shoulders and chest. I felt foolish, trapped, and really, really turned on. Josh scooped me up like I weighed nothing. His face, so like my memories of him, arrogant, handsome. He set me down lightly on the bed with my hands stuck underneath me. "I think you like it too," he said, on his knees, straddling my thighs. He wrapped his hand around my dick, still caught in the soft and now very damp cotton. Fuck. Hot as I was, bad as I wanted him to fuck me, I started to freak, trying to squirm away from him as he was pulling the underpants down my hips. He laughed, like I was just playing. He hooked his powerful arms under my knees, nearly folding me in half, his dick jabbing at my ass, and I suddenly lost it, completely. I panicked and started shoving him off me, using my legs and feet. I scrambled off the bed like I'd once tried to swim away from him as a kid. Only now I was grown, no physical match for him, but not six years old either. "What are you doing?" he asked me, incredulous at the sight of me frantically pulling my clothes on. What was I doing? My dick was still hard, my heart chugging like a freight train, and my hands shaking so bad I was having trouble holding my pants still enough to get my foot in them. "I don't know, I just don't want to," I managed to get the words out, half convinced he was going to pounce or grab me. "Come here," he said sitting up. "I don't think so." I felt like a total idiot but my throat was tightening up. Please God, I thought, don't let me start crying. My shirt was a wrinkled mess, I buttoned it haphazardly, not bothering to tuck it in. When I let myself look at him, I saw he was confused and pissed. "Brandy, just chill for a minute." He got up and I almost fell over my shoe laces, backing up. It's weird, but an image of Charlotte came to me, saying, you're like me, you can't say no. My eyes dropped to his dick, still hard. How many years had I worshipped it? He took me by the shoulders, not overpowering, but firm, he pulled me close against his hard chest. "What do you think?" he said, rubbing my back with one hand, keeping me close in his arm. "Want to try it again, a little slower?" he said. He started to kiss me, not so hard as before, a little and then a little bit more like he was testing the water. "Christ, you're worse than a girl," he murmured against my lips. His hand dropped to my butt, pressing me into his hard cock. Worse than a girl, I thought. Was I some kind of cock teasing bitch? "I don't want to fuck," I said. Where the nerve to say it came from, I've got no idea. "I think you do," he said, "I think you want it bad. But I'm not going to make you do anything. Look at me." I was hiding my face on his shoulder. I didn't want to look at him, but I did. He was smiling a little. "Didn't you have a funny bathing suit back then, with pictures on it? You were so fucking cute. Still are." "An anchor," I said. "It was an anchor on my bathing suit." "You were such a hot kid. I missed you a lot when you moved out west." Like I could reach back in time and get what I'd wanted then, I put my arms around his solid body. I saw in his eyes that he knew he'd snared me. My only whisper of protest, that he had to use a rubber if he wanted to fuck me. I knew he didn't want to, but he did it, to shut me up. He was being careful not to spook me again, moving a lot more slowly, but relentlessly, toward what he wanted. This time around he got me face down with a pillow propped under my hips. I hated myself for liking it. Lying there under him I felt weak, I felt humiliated by my own lust. His body, so much bigger and more powerful than Skyler's, crushed me into the mattress. He pounded his cock, like a stake of flesh, into my ass. My own cock was like a steel bar under me. It was just as hard when he was done and took off for a shower. I just stayed where I was, like a corpse with a hardon, belly down on that bed. "So, Brandy," he said. I looked at him, over my shoulder, not willing to turn around for him to see the state I was in. He was dressed, impeccable. "No need for you to rush off, you know. You busy tonight?" he asked me. My ass was still throbbing and my bladder was crying for release. "Yeah," I said weakly. "Are mondays good for you?" Jesus. Did he think he could just pencil me in for a weekly fuck? "Sure," I said, just wanting him to leave so I could pull myself together and get the hell out of there. I swore to myself I'd never let him touch me again. It wasn't until I was home, and saw the light flashing on my answering machine that I remembered what day it was. Skyler's birthday. Fifteen. Oh God. I hit the play button and tried not to cry, listening to his voice. He sang a little round of Happy Birthday to Me, and then reminded me that I had only three years of carefree single life left.