Date: Tue, 04 Dec 2001 06:04:36 +0000
From: Java Biscuit <javabiscuit@hotmail.com>
Subject: boy in a pink box, chapter four

This is a story involving 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.

Feedback to javabiscuit@hotmail.com

Boy in a Pink Box ~ chapter four

by Biscuit

I was in a sweat by the time I reached the top of the dune,
and only half of it was from struggling through the loose
sand. The rest was from panic. I followed Terry, knowing
whatever weird shit was going to come down would hit,
whether I faced it head on or not. Then I almost had a
fucking heart attack because Terry was lying in wait, to
scare me, hiding behind a clump of bushes. He leapt out,
screaming like a demon and I must have shot three feet in
the air, screaming my head off. I slipped as I went down,
sliding on my ass in the sand and Terry just about killed
himself laughing.

"Oh man, you shoulda seen your face," he was gasping for
air, collapsing next to me.

"Not funny, asshole," I yelled at him, but I had a big stupid
grin on my face. Damn, he'd gotten me good. In a way, it
calmed me down, like everything, even the weird shit
he'd said to me, was a joke.

"Very, *very* funny! Oh, Jesus."

It took awhile for us to quiet down, me from almost
dying and him from laughing. He was looking off toward
the next crest of dune. He kicked at the sand and smirked
at me.

"So Joe, what do you think we're doing here?"

"You tell me," I said. He was still smiling a little, but my
nerves started kicking up again. He looked away and I
figured whatever this adventure was really about was
over that next dune. I waited. Terry blew out a breath.
The he shocked the shit out of me.

"You're a fag, Joey," he said. Somewhere in my brain,
like lightening, I saw Gareth, and the blazing voice of my
conscience told me I'd opened a door into hell the moment
I'd laid a hand on him.

"You wish," I said. The voice of a dead man. Only dead
men don't blush and my face was flaming. I sat up
straighter and started to brush sand off my legs.

"Davis," he said, "tell me you weren't jonesing for that
little boy." Oh God. I hadn't gotten away with a fucking
thing. All the time I'd thought Terry didn't see the flag
waving in my pants, he'd seen it all. I stared at my knees,
at the sand, at my shoes, and tried to keep breathing. At
the edge of my vision I saw him pick up a handful of
sand and realized he was about to spray me with it. I
flinched as it struck me. "Earth to Joey," he said.

"What?" I shot at him, like he was pissing me off, like I
wasn't about to bring up my cheerios.

"I saw you, man," he said. "You could have split rocks
with your dick every time you looked at him."

"Shut the fuck up." It didn't come out the way I wanted
it to. It was almost a whisper, my throat was so tight.

"Joe. Do you get it? You're a fag. Wake up and smell
the fag coffee." He gave me a shove so hard I nearly
went over.

Smell the fag coffee?

Suddenly my belly lurched, but with laughter, not
puking. It bubbled up out of me in a nervous rush.
Terry snorted and started chuckling, pushing me again,
harder. Then he grabbed the back of my neck and
rocked me back and forth for a second. When he stopped,
he didn't take his hand away, he just kind of squeezed the
back of my neck. "You okay, buddy?"

I was far from okay, but I was breathing. His hand
was gritty and hot, and strong. He asked me again if
I was okay.

"Yeah, just ... fuck." I still couldn't get a full breath
and tried to wave him off.

"Joe. Repeat after me, I am a big fag." He'd pulled me
closer and said it near my ear, stretching the words out.
"Come on, you can do it," he giggled real low.

"Go to hell," I said, another half laugh startled out
of me, trying to elbow him away.

"No. I want to hear you say it, flat out, balls up.
You know why?"

"Cause you're a sick fuck."

I tried to push off and he grabbed the elbow I was
jamming into his ribs. He used his weight to knock
me over, landing on top of me so hard the air went
out of my lungs. He was bigger, heavier, and a hell
of a lot stronger than me. His tanned face filled my
eyes; all around it was blinding sun. I knew Terry's
face better than I knew my own, but I'd never seen it
like that, so close, beaded with sweat. His hair was a
mess, falling in his eyes; shockingly blue eyes with
their long dark lashes. They were half shut, studying
me. And I knew. Even before my brain processed the
feel of his cock like an iron rod shoved against my
hip.

"Fuck you, Davis," he said, and I was breathing his
breath. God almighty. My best buddy. This was about
him. Not me. Him. Well, it *was* about me, but
it was his hard dick gouging into me. And his was the
only wood there; my cock was playing dead. I looked
at him, like I was seeing him for the first time, and I
knew he wanted to kiss me, as much as I'd wanted to
lay one on Gareth the day before. And he saw me
knowing it. His eyes nearly shut and he lifted off of
me. On his knees, with his hands on either side of my
shoulders, he shook his head. "You really suck," was
his parting shot. He got up and started swiping at the
sand on his knees.

I felt so weird, calm, but wiped out, like my brain
had pushed past overload and taken my body with it.
I sat up slowly. Goddamned sand, everywhere;
an avalanche down the back of my shorts, shoveled up
by the loose top of my pants. Terry was picking up his
towel. I couldn't help looking at him, seeing how the
front of his cutoffs showed off what I'd just had digging
into me. Part of me was thinking what a monster piece
of wood it was, counting off inches like my brain was
in auto calculator mode, and totaling up, Jesus, half a
foot. Fucked up, to be thinking about it then.

"You know, Joey, you are one sick faggot." It didn't
have much sting. I felt like I deserved it. He was
right. "I always figured you'd wake up sooner or
later. I was pretty sure and yesterday it was, well, I
knew for sure. I just thought ... " he waved it off.
"You know."

Yeah, I knew. He'd thought I would feel about him,
like he did about me, and right then, I wished I did.
We'd have been in it together then, not like this; not
just knowing weird shit about each other.

"Junior's cute," he said, "but he's what, eight years
old?" I didn't bother saying he was ten, or pointing out
that Terry had seemed pretty hot for him, himself. Was
I wrong about that? Had he just been acting like that
because he was figuring me out? What difference
did it make? Any way you looked at it, Terry was the
one left out. I said nothing. He threw his towel over his
shoulder. Then he turned away and started down the
valley toward the next dune.

"Where are you going?" I called out after him. Stupid.
It was obvious where he was going. He stopped and
looked back at me.

"I wasn't kidding about making a few bucks and getting
off. Marty told me there are guys out here who'd pay
me for it. I'm gonna check it out." There was a ghost of
a grin on his face then. "Go home, Joey."

"Marty?" He was a high school senior, or at least he
had been. He'd just graduated. He was someone I still
thought of as "one of the big kids," as if Terry and I
were the ten year-olds. He lived next door to Terry and
he used to let us shoot hoops with him in his backyard,
coaching our shots.

"Yeah, Marty," he said, turning his back. I sat there,
trying to get my brain around it, watching him walk
away; feeling like biggest, stupidest jerk in the world.
Like I might cry. He went over the top of the next dune,
where I wouldn't follow. I was too chicken shit to go
after him.

I don't know how long I sat there but I finally admitted
to myself that he wasn't coming back and I wasn't
going after him. I got up and made my way back to
where our bikes were locked up. Then I almost did cry,
unlocking my stupid bike, looking at his.

I didn't want to go home and I didn't want to go into
town and risk seeing D'Arcy and Jen. How weird would
that be? No way I could act normal around them.

Off the bike path I saw a pair of guys, on one of the
trails. They looked like what I'd always thought fags
looked like. I don't know, a style of dressing -- like
Gareth's mom had picked out their clothes. They had a
way of walking, and a way of talking and laughing with
each other that I associated with summer, with tourists;
not me, not Terry, not Marty.

The sun was straight overhead and brutal when I got
out onto the highway. I pedaled hard toward home,
hoping my dad wouldn't be there. The twenty minute
ride felt like forever, doing it by myself. By the time I
got there my throat was raw, my head was pounding
and I was dying of thirst. Grateful there was no truck
in the driveway, I rode around back to where the garden
hose was coiled up and turned it on, full blast. I let it
splash my face and gulped some of it down. I heard a
knocking sound and a muffled voice.

"Hey, Joey, in here!"

God help me, it was Gareth. I heard him, but I didn't
see him. Then my eyes found him. He was in the old
shed, hard to see in the shadows, waving at me from its
window and knocking on the glass to get my attention.
What the fuck was he doing in there? The door creaked
open and he came running out. He'd cut off my jeans
and had them rolled up to his knees. He had on bright
blue hi tops and a sky blue tee-shirt that said Absolutely
Fabulous across the front of it. His mom, I thought,
should be shot.

"You're home!" He almost sang it, he sounded so happy.
It hurt to see him dancing around.

"What the hell were you doing in there?"

He stopped short, a couple feet away from me, looking
like I'd smacked him; which, in a way, I guess I had.

"Nobody was here."

"Your mom bring you over?" He shook his head. I shut
off the water, trying to get a grip on myself. I'd been
dying to see him, what felt like, forever ago. Now I
could hardly stand to look at him. One sick faggot,
that's me, I thought. Then I did look at him and it
seemed like the pain in my chest would go away if I
just picked him up and squeezed him. But I didn't.

"Did you want to go to the beach?" I asked him. He gave
me an odd, uncertain look. Then a little smile, looking up
at me from under his long bangs. A different kind of
ache edged at my heart and my cock woke up with a
vengeance.

"You're not mad at me for coming over?"

"What do you think?" I asked, biting back the start of a
grin. I couldn't help how good he made me feel.

God, I wanted him. He was prettier than any girl I knew,
with his fine features and his long straight hair. But no
girl had ever made my blood boil like he did. He looked
pretty in a girlish way, but it was the boy part of him
that I wanted. He was taking a good look at my crotch
and his smile dimpled up.

"I think ... you're not mad at me."

"Maybe you're right," I said, "maybe not," reaching back
down for the hose. Even though he started backing up
when he saw me crank the faucet, he wasn't quick enough
to get away and I sprayed him good. He yelped as he ran,
laughing. I turned off the water and chased after him,
careful not to catch him until we were hidden in the trees.
He screamed and squealed every time I got close until I
grabbed him up from behind. I had him trapped, his ass
was flush against my dick as he gave a last struggle and it
felt so good it was blinding. I almost stumbled, with him
hanging forward, over my arms, still giggling.

Carefully, making myself ignore the throbbing between
my legs, I lowered him down on the pine needles until he
was on his hands and knees. I was right behind him,
staring at that round butt that had felt so good on my
cock.

Gareth wiggled his backside at me, teasing like he knew
how much I liked it. Then he laughed and dropped down,
rolling over on his back with his legs spread and his
little poker making a pup tent in my old jeans.

"I told my mum you asked me to come over," he said.
He started sliding his hand down the front of his pants.
"Know what?"

"Chicken butt," I said, and he smiled, touching himself.
I didn't know what I wanted more, to do the same thing
to myself, or do it to him, but I was getting desperate
to do something. He pulled his hand out of his pants and
unzipped them and I couldn't believe how badly I wanted
to see that twig of his. He was naked under the loose
pants but he cupped his hand around his cock, hiding it
from me.

"I want to look at yours," he said, nudging at my leg
with his sneakered foot. I knew this was what we'd do,
from the minute I'd started chasing him down; this
kind of stuff. But it shocked me to really be doing it,
to push my shorts down and let them drop to my ankles,
to kneel on the ground half naked with the pine needles
denting my knees, feeling the air on my wet cock. It
was snapped up tight to my stomach.

Gareth sat up, scooting toward me; he had that
dreamy look in his eyes, focused on my dick. I knew
what was coming when he leaned forward and I broke
out in goose bumps. My brain fogged up and my balls
were as tight as drums. His hair brushed over my
thighs and I nearly lost it. At the first hot wet touch
of his mouth I started firing. I grabbed the sides of his
head and shoved through his lips. My eyes squeezed
shut and I saw stars exploding behind my eyelids. A
sound came out of me like I was strangling on my own
spit. He was the one that should have been strangling.
It felt like I was shooting a gallon of cum in his mouth.
How could he stand it?

My fingers were tangled up in his hair and I let go
of it, my hands shaky. When he sat back his face was
all red from bending over and he had spunk shining
on the sides of his mouth and his lips. God, it seemed
so wrong to make him look like that. He wiped at his
mouth with the back of his hand and he coughed. But
he didn't seem upset. His eyes were glittering.

"Was it good Joey?" Christ, he knew it was. He was
starting to grin, wiping his wet hand on his shirt.

"Yeah," I said, slowly getting to my feet. "Not half
bad." He smacked me, an opened handed whack at
my leg that just made me laugh.

"Bloody liar," he said, grinning up at me like I was
his favorite flavor of ice cream. I was pulling up
my pants and tucked my tender dick into them with
a groan. He jumped up like I might be taking off
without him, buttoning up his baggy shorts.

I wanted to take him inside, to my bed, where there
wasn't any sand or pine needles; where I could
stretch out and bury my face between his legs.

When he got to his feet I put my arm around his
shoulders and he tucked himself all around me,
walking with me and leaning on me and I didn't
feel like a sick faggot. I felt like a lucky one.