Date: Sat, 09 Feb 2002 14:37:19 +0000 From: Java Biscuit Subject: Back to the Playground, 9 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 nine by Biscuit Charlotte rented a house on Cape Cod for the month of August. It was her farewell to the East Coast. At the end of the month, Charlotte, Art, and a very sullen teenage boy were moving to Oakland, California. I was invited to join them for a weekend, in the middle of that beach house vacation. We'd come up with no firm plan beyond facing a long separation. I'd promised to fly out west to visit, which Charlotte had invited me to do, at some unspecified time once they'd gotten settled. Skyler thought I could pretend to fall in love with Oakland when I visited them and say I wanted to move there myself. Possible, but vague. I think it was the pressure of not knowing when we'd see each other again that made us careless. We overslept. A rain soaked, dark Sunday morning. Skyler was in my bed, up my ass, when Charlotte opened the guest room door. The storm had made it seem much earlier than it was. I'd woken up feeling Skyler's warm body over my back, his slippery cock nosing between the cheeks of my ass. I knew it wasn't a good idea, but it felt so good and I wanted him so bad. I knew it was going to be the last time, for a long time. We never heard her or saw her, didn't know she'd seen us. The noise of the storm masked the sound, if there was any sound when she opened the door; rain lashing, rattling windows. We were totally absorbed in fucking our brains out. I was biting the pillow to keep from groaning out loud, all I could hear was rain, my own harsh breathing, and Skyler panting on top of me. I don't know at what point she opened the door or how long she watched us, but it wouldn't have taken long to figure out what the hell we were doing under those covers. Skyler went downstairs first. I showered and dressed, it was close to eleven o'clock by the time I went down. Nobody was in the front room that overlooked the water, where all the hanging out usually went on. I heard Skyler's voice. No words, but the tone was so serious it alarmed me. They were in the kitchen, facing each other across the broad rustic table. Silence, the minute I appeared. Then Charlotte said to me, "There's coffee. It's still fresh." Perfectly normal thing to say, but the look on her face was anything but. Strained, to say the least. Skyler shot me a warning look. "My mom knows you let me sleep with you last night," he said. "She saw us just now." "Skyler don't," she snapped. It's funny that inside I felt dead calm even though I saw that my hand was shaky when I reached for the coffee pot. Let him sleep with me? She saw us! I had to say something but I couldn't think what. "I'm sorry, Charlotte," is what came out of me. "Don't, Brandy," she said. "It's my fault." What? I looked at her, completely confused. I'd known this woman for a long time and yet we weren't close. In general, I'd say, we had a sympathy for one another, both caring for and about Skyler, both of us in psychotherapy for what seemed like forever. It wasn't the first time she surprised me. She had a way of coming from out of what I'd call left field. But this was far and away the most bizarre thing she'd ever said to me. "Your fault?" I echoed, totally baffled. Why was she seemingly angry at Skyler and looking at me full of careful concern? "Yes," she said, "my fault. I've known for a long time how Skyler feels about you and still pushed you to spend time with him. I could have predicted this would happen. I know you Brandy," she said. What she didn't know could have filled a library. "You're like me," she said. "Vulnerable. You don't know how to say no." She laughed, awkwardly, the way people do when they're sharing something a little more intimate than they're sure you're at ease with. "We give," she said, "men take." Men? What the fuck? Daryl, strangely enough, had had an uncomfortably similar reaction. He'd said to me, the day after he walked in on us, "You know, you're not necessarily doing that kid any favors giving in to him You could say no to him." Good God. Why did people see a kid, who was seven years younger than I was, as the one in control? Because I'm physically small, blond, or what? Daryl thought I was weak, Skyler was strong, and I'd caved in to him even though I knew it was wrong. Trent was upset. He was worried that I'd end up hurt, or hurting Skyler, neither of us, in his opinion, in any shape to carry on a real relationship. Nobody saw me, as I saw myself, the seducer of a young boy. "I could have said no if I wanted to," I told her and she just gave me a wan sort of smile. Though I was relieved that the police weren't about to bust me for child molesting, I didn't know what to say to make her understand, without making her understand too much. My blush was a wave of heat rising up my throat into my face. Oh God. "Mom," Skyler said. "Please. I'm not my dad. I'm not going to get Brandy pregnant and desert him or something. I just want to be with him." So unreal. My stomach was trying to turn upside down inside me. I needed a cigarette, even though I'd pretty much given them up by then. I saw Charlotte's on the table and they looked damn good. I glanced at her and motioned pathetically at the smokes. With the warmth of a fellow addict she slid the pack toward me, making Skyler groan loud in protest. "Mom, don't encourage him." "Just like your father," she shot at him. "That's the first thing he tried to control about me." Skyler threw up his hands in theatrical surrender and I guiltily took a butt from her pack. Three hours later, with nothing resolved, I was back in my apartment, hiding in my bed. My hair loose around me, smelling like apples. I don't know what had possessed me. I'd walked into a salon at the airport and told the girl to shave it all off. She wouldn't do it. She undid my braid and brushed it out, looking at me in the mirror. "I don't think you should do this," she'd said to me. Maybe she saw how close I was to crying. "I'll trim the ends for you," she said. "We'll give you a nice shampoo and conditioning. You'll feel better." I can't say I felt any better. I was both relieved and disappointed that she'd stopped me from doing something so drastic. One thing I hadn't known, until that morning, was that Skyler's dad was almost exactly seven years younger than his mom. It made me feel sick when she said it, trying to make me see what she thought her son was doing. Was there any truth in it? Were Skyler and I just enacting bizarre family dramas with each other? I felt an old, and overwhelming impulse to roam the park in search of guys. But, fucked up as I was, the the thought of going out in the pouring rain, which had followed me home, was more than I could bear. I opted for crawling into bed at about six o'clock. Near seven, still awake but too miserable to get up, I heard someone on the stairs. No knock. I was braced to see Trent when the door swung open. But it was Skyler. It was an overblown sort of teenage dramatic thing to do, coming after me. But it worked. The whole mind fuck of the day paled at the sight of him. I sat up, letting the covers fall. I watched him shed a trail of wet clothes from the door to my bed. "Sky, your mom knows you're here?" "She knows. I'm staying with you until we fly out west, at least," he said, burrowing into the covers with me. Two weeks, it was like a miracle, an eternity, having thought I wouldn't see him until sometime in winter. Skyler was his wrestling self, restless. I battled him a little, just because it felt so good to have his naked body rubbing against mine. I caught his so often pouting bottom lip between my teeth before I kissed him. At the same time I tried to trap him on top of me, between my legs. The more he struggled, the harder I got, rubbing against his cock, moist with our juices. I could have come like that, easy, but he pulled away from me suddenly, with a groan. "Not yet," he said. Man, not a second too soon. I was so close. I gave myself a hard pinch and tried not to jump him. He was rummaging in the bedside drawer for a condom. I was so tempted to grab him, the inward curve of his waist, golden tanned skin turning pinky-white over the round cheeks of his ass. He didn't have a sharp tan line. He was shaded from dark to light, from swimming in different suits. I ran my hand over his ass. "Hey!" he protested. "Hey what? You're getting that out for me, right?" I knew he wasn't. He turned over, tearing the packet open. "This is for you," he said, stroking himself. I watched him roll the thin moist sheath down his cock. He was biting his bottom lip, his eyes narrowed at me. For him, like for me, putting it on was erotic, a signal to the brain that something really good was about to happen. Sky's eyes were so dark right then. They looked more purple than blue. On my belly. We'd done this only ten hours before in the beach house. I flashed back to it, and how good it had been then. And then, the aftermath. God, don't think about it now, I told myself. Skyler was on my back, working his cock into me. I tried not to think about anything, to concentrate on the feel of him stretching me open. He got deep and started stroking. Then there was blessed oblivion of fucking.