The following contains scenes of sexual activity between males. If it is illegal for you to read this in your area or if you feel you may be offended by doing so, please do not continue. This story is complete fiction and any similarities between the story and reality are purely coincidental. Some of the characters may engage in behavior which could be construed as illegal or unsafe. This is not an endorsement of such behavior. The author does not condone the violation of any law, nor does he encourage unsafe behavior. Please do not copy or post this story without the knowledge or consent of the author.

Please send any comments to my new address, chriswriter @ Thank you for reading my story. If you enjoy it, please let others know about it.

A Curious Set of Misfits

by FreeThinker

“Sitting on the side,. Waiting for a sign. Hoping that my luck will change.

Reaching for a hand that can understand, someone who feels the same.

When you live in a cookie cutter world being different is a sin.

So you don't stand out and you don't fit in. Weird.”

Hanson. Copyright 1997, Jam 'N Bread Music

Chapter One

Michael Griffin was hard. Again.

He squirmed uncomfortably in the back seat of the family car. Gazing at the passing landscape of farms and billboards, he tried to understand why this was happening to him and why it had been happening so much more frequently. It seemed that his "thing" was getting stiff a dozen times a day. It was very disconcerting.

"I have to pee!"

His little brother's announcement came as no surprise to anyone in the car. He had been making these reports every fifteen or twenty minutes since they had left St. Louis that morning. Jimmy's bladder seemed to have no capacity.

"We're almost there," his father assured him.

"You said that an hour ago," Jimmy whined.

"I said that ten minutes ago," his father replied with a grin. "Look. There's the toll booth. It's just a couple more miles, so hold it."

"He is," Michael said with a grin as his brother squeezed himself with his right hand. He could see his father roll his eyes in the rear view mirror.

The car pulled off the turnpike and onto the exit ramp, stopping at the toll booth. An old man who looked as if he hadn't shaved in a week held his hand out the window as his father pulled a dollar out of his wallet. The man wordlessly handed him a receipt and turned away.

"Welcome to Oklahoma," his father muttered as they drove forward.

Michael watched as his mother looked sympathetically at his father.

"Dave," she said softly with a smile. "It won't be that bad."

"I know," his father replied. "I know."

The car turned onto an old two-lane road. Michael sighed with relief. His eight hours trapped in the back seat were almost over. They rounded a curve and there was the familiar old farmhouse he had seen every time they had come to Madison. The same rusty old pick-up still sat in front next to a decrepit old refrigerator and an overturned toilet. Further down the road, they passed the same old rusty sign nailed to a fence post announcing with overwhelming certainty, "Rainbow is Good Bread." However, it was not until they passed across the rusty bridge over the Cherokee River that Michael knew they were finally there.

Just past the river was the Rebel Inn, a cinder-block structure surrounded by a gravel parking lot on which several run-down pick-ups were parked. To the side stood a row of poles from which Confederate flags were barely waiving in the slight summer breeze. They guarded a billboard with a torn and tattered picture of a man with slick black hair and a hateful face beneath which were the words, "George Wallace for President."

"Well, we're home."

Those were the words for which Michael had been waiting. It was a ritual that as soon as they crossed the Cherokee River and passed the Rebel Inn, his father would announce, with a sad shake of the head, "Well, we're home." But, the relief Michael felt that his eight-hours imprisoned in the back of the Griffin family LTD was nearly over was tempered with the knowledge that this time, when his father announced they were home, this time, they really were.

"I want to go home!"

His little sister threw her Barbie down and scrunched her face, preliminary, everyone knew, to one of her famous tantrums. His mother turned around and gave her a look that wordlessly told Patty that this was not the time. In response, the girl simply crossed her arms and pouted.

"Tell you what," their father said. "Why don't we drive by the new house first before we go to Mom and Dad's? That way, you can see our new home!"

"But, I have to pee!" Jimmy cried.

"You can go to the bathroom at the new house," his father declared, trying to suppress his exasperation. Jimmy sighed. Patty picked her Barbie up from the floor, intending to throw it down again as she began another tantrum. However, once again, her mother turned and gave the look again. Only Michael refrained from any protest, thankful that in the diversion of loving family conversation, his "thing" had decided to go down.

They passed a junkyard on one side of the road and a destitute-looking Conoco station before they came to a giant sign along the side of the road announcing "Welcome to Madison, Oklahoma! America's Hometown!" Beneath were numerous smaller signs advertising various restaurants, motels, and fraternal organizations, (including something called IOOF, "eye-oof?"). They passed a cheap looking motel called, hopefully, the Isle of Capri Motel with "A/C and Color TV in every room." Beside that were the Madison Bowlarama, a TG&Y dime store, and a Tastee-Freeze. Across the street were mostly small, ill-kept houses and a Pentecostal church.

I'm leaving St. Louis for this, Michael thought as they continued south on what was now called Fourth Street. He forced himself to smile, hoping that if his father looked in the rear-view mirror, he would not see the disappointment in his face.

Up ahead, Michael could see what he could only describe, stealing a line from his favorite TV show, Rowan and Martin's Laugh-In, as "beautiful downtown Madison." However, before they reached it, the car turned into the neighborhood to the right.

"This isn't the way to Grandma and Granddad's!" Jimmy declared.

"You're right," their father replied. "But, it is the way to our house."

Once again, Patty made as if to throw her Barbie down. Their Mother didn't even turn around; she merely said, in a fearful tone, "Patty..." and the girl placed the doll in her lap and returned to her pouting.

They were only a few blocks from his grandparents' house, but Michael's heart sank as he saw how much smaller and cheaper the houses were along... he strained to see the street sign as they passed the next corner... Shawnee Avenue compared to their grandparents'.

"This isn't where we're moving, Mikey."

He looked up quickly to see his father watching him through the rear-view mirror again. He smiled, cursing himself for letting his father see his concern. His Dad had enough trouble to contend with without him adding to it.

"Trust me," his Dad added with a smile. "You'll like it!"

And, as they drove further west, toward the edge of town, the scenery did improve. The houses began to look newer, more colorful. He saw several houses with kids playing in the yards, and even a small park with playground equipment.

They came to a stop sign. To their immediate left was a turquoise "cracker box" house, maybe fifteen or twenty years old. Up ahead to the left, was a new addition of large one-story ranch-style houses of red brick and wide yards. Ahead, on the right were empty fields. And, to his immediate right...

He froze. The house seemed old and like nothing he had ever seen before. It was a one story covered in orange-brown sandstone. Surrounded by a long covered porch, it sat in the middle of a wide lawn dotted with purple and pink crepe myrtle. A huge oak stood sentry in front. And, under the oak stood a boy.

Their eyes met. Michael couldn't look away. The boy was about his same age and size, with thick dark blond hair sweeping across his forehead. It was long, but not covering his ears. He was shirtless and barefoot, wearing only a pair of cut-offs. He was just standing under the tree, apparently doing nothing. Just standing. And looking at Michael.

"Well?" his father asked, proudly. "What do you think?"

Michael turned quickly. His father was looking across the street and to the left.

"That's our new neighborhood."

"Which one's ours?" Jimmy demanded. "I gotta pee real bad!"

"Well, let's go find it so you can go."

They drove forward, but Michael turned to his right and watched as the boy and the sandstone house receded. The boy was still watching. And... Michael was hard again.

A block up the street, his Dad turned left. Jimmy was squirming rather energetically at Michael's side and he was starting to whimper.

"Dad, I think Jimmy's about to blow up."

They turned the next corner and pulled up in front of the second house on the right. Jimmy desperately crawled over his protesting sister, threw open the door, and ran wildly toward the back of the closest house.

"I guess he wasn't kidding," his Dad commented, watching the retreating form of his second son. "Thank God, he chose the right house."

The family emerged from the car.

"Well, this is it! Our new home!"

His father seemed very proud of it, though Michael struggled to hide his disappointment. It wasn't as nice as the home they had left in Kirkwood, but it was OK. Like every other house he could see up and down the street, it was red brick with white fake shutters by the windows. There was a light pole halfway up the driveway and holly bushes and azaleas along the front porch, which ran from the front door to the garage. Unlike most of the other houses on the block, it did not have a little statue of a black man in livery holding a lantern.

"Neat," said Michael, feigning enthusiasm. Patty hid behind her mother, looking nervously around at her new surroundings. Their mother looked at their father sympathetically.

"Give them some time, hon. They'll get used to it."

"Hey, I like it!" Michael said, trying to look as enthused as he could. "Where's our bedroom?"

"Well," said his Dad strolling across the lawn and pointing to the window in front to the left of the front door, "there is your bedroom. And, Jimmy's is right behind it."

Michael stopped and his eyes grew wide.

"You mean... "

His Dad grinned.

"Yep. Michael, my man, you have your own bedroom!"


Even in their old house, which was lots nicer than this one, he didn't have his own bedroom. He had always assumed he would have to share with Jimmy until he finally left for college. This was definitely going to make moving from St. Louis to Podunk a heck of a lot easier!

Jimmy came running back from around the side of the house.

"Michael! Come look! We got a club house in the back!"

"Jimmy! Guess what! We got our own rooms!"

His little brother stopped in the middle of the driveway. His eyes grew big.

"No way!"

"Yes way!"

Jimmy looked to his Dad for confirmation, who grinned and nodded.

"Wow. Come on, Michael! Look at the club house!"

Michael followed his running brother and as he turned the corner around the garage, looked back to see his sister taking a few tentative steps toward them. He waved for her to follow and then went in pursuit of his brother.

The back yard was nice. There was a large patio with sliding glass doors. Nearby was a gas grill and, in the back, there was, indeed, a club house, a small wooden structure with large windows on all four sides. Jimmy was busy describing in intricate detail his plans for the clubhouse as Michael checked out the redwood privacy fence. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

As Michael returned to the front, he found his father being hailed by a man striding across the street, followed by a boy about Michael's age.

"Dave Griffin? Is that you?!" the man bellowed as he approached the front yard.

"Well, my goodness. Bill Patterson! I haven't seen you since graduation! How have you been?"

"I'm doing great! Just great!" the man replied heartily. "I'm sales manager at Madison Chevrolet!"

Michael winced at the man's pronunciation of "Chivoley."

The men were shaking hands as Michael saw the boy behind Mr. Patterson roll his eyes and grin. Michael grinned back as his father introduced his mother.

"We met at TU," he was saying; "my junior year. It was love at first sight."

"So, you're moving here from Tulsa?"

"No, St. Louis."

"Really? You get a job here?"

Michael saw his father cool slightly, but knew he was covering.

"Well, actually, I'm taking over Dad's insurance agency. At least until he gets back on his feet or we can sell it."

"Oh, that's right," Mr. Patterson replied. "I'm so sorry about your Dad. How is he?"

"He's taking it easy, but he's plugging right along. You know Dad. Nothing stops him."

The boy behind Mr. Patterson stepped forward at that moment and waived to Michael to follow him. They walked toward the street as the adults continued their conversation.

"Hey, I'm Ricky."

Michael immediately knew Ricky was cool. His sandy blond hair was cut short and combed down over his forehead. His face was covered with freckles and he had a huge grin.

"I'm Michael."

"You gonna like living here. There's lots of guys in the neighborhood. Its pretty cool."

Michael decided not to express any doubts on the neighborhoods "coolness." He merely replied, "Cool."

"There's a ball field over there," Ricky announced, pointing toward the west. "And, if you ride up Twelfth Street up there, there's a great place to fish, too."

Michael tried to look enthused. For Madison, Ricky was probably going to be as cool as he could find.

"There aren't too many places in St. Louis to go fishing."

Ricky grinned.

"Yeah, I'll bet. Madison's got tons of cool places."


"Well," Mr. Patterson announced, "looks like the boys have already hit it off."

The adults were all grinning at Michael and Ricky, both of whom responded by rolling their eyes at how weird adults could be.

Trying to make the best of the situation, Michael said, "Ricky says we can play ball over there and there's a place to go fishing over there."

"Well, I could have told you that," his father replied with a grin.

"Yeah, but it wouldn't have been cool if you did," said his mother with a bigger grin. All the adults chuckled and the boys rolled their eyes yet again.

"Well," Michael's father said leaning against the fender of the car, "Mom's probably got dinner waiting for us. We just got in town and I wanted the family to see the house. But, we need to get over to the folks."

"Dave, it was great to see you again. This is great you're moving across the street. We'll have to have a neighborhood cook-out to welcome you back."

"Hey, that would be great!"

"Yeah. It'll be just like old times!"

Michael and his mother were probably the only ones who noticed the forced enthusiasm in his father's voice as he agreed, "Yeah. Just like old times."


The sky was growing darker and lightening bugs were blinking about the back yard. The katydids were singing to each other in the trees and the swifts and martins were darting back and forth above their heads as Michael's parents and grandparents sat in the lawn furniture relaxing with wine and cheese. Several tiki torches had been set around the group and their flames cast a yellowish glow over the circle in which the adults sat.. From overhead came the soft, muffled roar of a jet heading toward Tulsa, probably from St. Louis, Michael concluded, judging from the direction. Michael sat on a redwood bench off to the side from the adults. Patty was lying on the second bench on the other side of the picnic table, sound asleep, exhausted from a busy day of tantrums. Jimmy lay in the grass looking up at the sky and the first stars to appear. Michael crossed his legs on the bench, sitting Indian style as he listened to the adults.

"Jimmy," his father said looking over at his little brother spread-eagled to the side. "You're going to get chigger bites if you're not careful."

"I'm OK," his brother replied sleepily.

"Well, if you're sure; but, don't complain later on when your Mother has to put Merthiolate on all your bites."

His grandparents chuckled and his Granddad grinned.

"Just like his father. You never listened, either, Dave."

Everyone was silent for a moment until his grandmother spoke.

"Dave, we want to tell you how much your moving to Madison means to us. You're father just hates that you're giving up your job there to come here, but, it means so much to us for Jim not to have to sell the agency."

"Ah, Mom. Its no sacrifice. Good grief, you're my parents."

"And, Betsy," his grandmother continued. "Don't think I don't know how hard its going to be for you. I know you've lived in Tulsa and St. Louis you're whole life. I know you had a wonderful life in Kirkwood. Its going to be hard for you here in Madison. But, you are so sweet for doing this."

"Oh, Mom. Don't say anything," his Mom replied. "We can make a life for ourselves anywhere. As long as we're all together and healthy and happy."

"Well, don't think I don't know what a sacrifice you're making, son," his grandfather said roughly. "I know you didn't want to come home and I hate that you had to."

"Dad, I don't hate coming back. This is home."

"Oh, don't lie to me, Dave. I know you. You're only here because of a sense of obligation. You hated Madison when you were a kid. You couldn't wait to get out of here."

Michael looked up in shock at his grandfather sitting in the lawn chair nearest him. He had never heard his grandfather speak so bluntly or so bitterly.

"James!" his grandmother declared. Immediately, his grandfather lowered his head and a look of contrition came over his face. Michael's father was silent, his face filled with pain.

"I... I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Its OK, Dad. I understand. Dr. Watson explained that its common for men to feel angry and depressed after a heart attack. And, you're right. In a perfect world, I'd have stayed in St. Louis. But, you're my father. You're my father."

Once again, everyone was silent. Michael felt as if he wanted to cry. Finally, his grandfather spoke.

"Things just seem so different. Everything's different. My God, its not just my life, but the whole world is changing. This damn war in Vietnam. The blacks rioting, the college kids rioting. Hell, this morning they said on the news the damn homosexuals were rioting in New York last night. Homosexuals rioting! Have you ever heard of such a thing?"

Once again, everyone was silent. Michael broke the silence.

"Dad, who are the homosexuals?"

All four adults turned and looked at Michael with varying degrees of confusion and consternation on their faces. His grandparents looked at his father. His mother held her hands out helplessly. His father coughed.

"Um, well, homosexuals are... um, men... um, men who are different from other men."


His father frowned.

"Um. Yes. Well. Perhaps, we should discuss this later."

Michael sat thinking for a moment and then spoke up.

"You mean we need to have The Talk?"

"I beg your pardon?" His father's eyes opened wide in surprise.

“Garrett told me a couple of weeks ago that he had The Talk with his Dad. You know, the one fathers always have with their sons. Didn't Granddad have The Talk with you?"

Michael couldn't tell who was stifling a chuckle and suddenly he felt very foolish.

"Well, yes, he did have The Talk with me. In fact, several. Um, just out of curiosity, what exactly did Garrett tell you that he and his Dad discussed in The Talk?"

Michael was now very embarrassed.

"Well... um, I asked him, but he said he couldn't tell because it was too gross.”

This was met with even more chuckles, which made Michael's face burn.

“Well,” said his father, appreciating his son's discomfort, “we can discuss this and anything else you might have a question about in a few days. It may be time that we have the talk.” With a hint of mystery in his voice, he added, “I suppose eleven years-old is plenty old enough to know the secrets.”

Not wanting to be the object of more chuckles, (he hated it when adults made those “knowing” laughs and jokes about kids), he stood and announced it was time for him to go to bed.

Later, after helping Jimmy dab Merthiolate over his chigger bites and blowing hard on the big orange stains on the boy's legs and arms to take away the sting, he was laying in the bed his father had slept in as a boy. He gazed out the open window and felt the nice breeze from the attic fan pulling the night air in. He let his mind wander.

Michael knew The Talk was about sex, though beyond that he knew nothing. He knew sex was about kissing and hugging and making babies, but beyond that, he knew nothing. And, he assumed that “homosexuals” had something to do with sex. But, yet again, he could not guess. However, there was something about the word that made him feel funny. It was the same feeling that came over him whenever his “thing” would get hard. It was the same feeling he got that afternoon in the car when they drove past that orange stone house and that blond kid who was standing there in the yard looking at him.

That blond kid. Standing there. Looking at him. He seemed familiar. It was one of those weird situations in which he felt as if he had done that before. He had seen the boy before, but where?

Yes, of course. The cover of Boysworld magazine, the previous fall. There was an article about what life in the twenty-first century would be like and on the cover was a picture of a boy in a silver space suit. He looked a little like Will Robinson from Lost in Space, though his hair was blonder, a golden blond. It was straight and fell over his forehead and almost touched the tops of his ears. His eyebrows were slightly darker than his hair and his eyes were a bright blue. There was a scattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks. Michael had stared at that picture many times, feeling funny, feeling like he wanted to know the boy, to… yes, to be the boy. And, that afternoon, he had felt the same way as he looked at that boy on the corner near their new house.

He wanted to ask his father about his feelings, but something instinctively told him that this was not something he could share with anyone. He liked looking at the boy on the cover of Boysworld. He liked looking at the boy on the corner. And, looking at the picture and the boy made his “thing” hard.

A light went off in his head. He would get hard when he saw a boy he liked to look at. A cute boy. But, wait. He didn't get hard when he met Ricky Patterson that afternoon. Maybe he didn't think Ricky was cute.

Suddenly, Michael felt short of breath. The revelation had caused something to happen. It was as if someone had flipped a switch or turned a valve. The feelings he experienced when he looked at that picture in Boysworld, when he saw that boy this afternoon, when he was hard, suddenly burst through his body, overwhelming him, flooding over him. He felt hot, out of breath; and, he was hard, so painfully, fiercely, wonderfully hard.

He looked to his left at his little brother, sleeping peacefully beside him. Jimmy was laying on his left side, his back to Michael, dead to the world. Michael knew that a car horn in his ear would hardly awaken the boy. Michael slowly pushed the sheet down, uncovering his body down to his thighs. He felt a strange thrill as he looked at this rigid little penis pushing through the slit of his pajama bottoms. Because of the heat, he wasn't wearing his top and his tummy and chest were bare. The breeze from the window sent a burst of excitement through his body. Slowly, he reached down and unsnapped the top of his pajama shorts, pulling the cloth back and giving his penis total freedom.

He was fascinated by it. It was so rigid and long, probably three inches; so much bigger than its normal size. The cone shaped tip at the end was wide and red and seemed about to burst. The main part of his penis was white while the area behind the cone was red and pink. His balls seemed to be tighter than normal. It was all so amazing.

He could barely breathe as he gazed at himself. It was beautiful. Yes. It was most definitely one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. He giggled at his joke; one of the most beautiful "things." Well, it was the only "thing" he had ever seen. Well, that wasn't true. He had seen his father's occasionally, in the bathroom. And, Jimmy's. But, never had he seen them looking like this.

Michael was trembling as he gazed at his penis. His penis seemed to tremble, as well, bobbing and pulsing with his heartbeat. But, it also seemed to jump of its own accord and when it did, he seemed to feel something deep within, something inside, between his penis and his butt. It was a pressure of some kind, a feeling he couldn't describe.

A breeze from the open window blew over his penis, causing it to jump and the feeling inside to grow even more. He stopped himself from moaning. He held his breath as he looked down at his stiff boyhood.

Slowly, he raised his right hand and extended his index finger. He touched the tip of his penis and felt it jump and stiffen. He couldn't stop himself from making a slight, high-pitched crying sound.

Oh, my God, he thought.

He touched it again, in the little cleft that ran from the hole downward toward the pink area. His hand shook as he moved the tip of his finger toward the pink area. It was so sensitive! It felt so good! He couldn't believe it! He ran his finger all over the sensitive area and as he did so, gradually increased the pressure. He brought his other fingers to his penis and suddenly, as the sensations grew, he simply wrapped his hand around it and squeezed.

"Nnng!" he cried as he thrust his hips upward and grasped his rigid penis. Oh, this was the most incredible thing he had ever experienced! Nothing in his life had ever felt like this. He began to twist his hand around his penis, rubbing it sideways and rhythmically squeezing it as he twisted his grip. He couldn't help himself. He squirmed his hips, grinding his butt into the mattress, working his hips up and down and all around as his hand squeezed and rubbed his rock-like boyhood.

The feeling deep within was growing so intense. Something had to happen. Something absolutely had to happen. He didn't know what, but whatever it was, it had to happen. He was gasping out loud by now and breathing as if he were running. Every few seconds, he would cry out, "Nnng! Nnng!" as he hand seemed to take on a mind of its own. With each squeeze and stroke on his penis, the feelings inside seemed to grow. And, just when he thought it couldn't get any better or more intense, it did.

He was insane with squeezing and grasping himself. He closed his eyes and threw his head back, working his boyhood with his right hand, desperately grasping the bedsheet with his left as his hips churned and thrust under his frantic hand.

And, then, suddenly, he had to pee. He knew he was going to pee. He was going to pee all over himself. he had to stop. He had to stop rubbing his penis. He had to. He was going to pee. But, he couldn't. He couldn't stop. It felt so good, oh so darn good. Oh, God, it felt so good.

And, just as suddenly as he realized he had to pee, he realized he didn't care. He didn't care if he peed all over himself. He couldn't stop rubbing and squeezing his penis.

And, as he cried, "Nnng, nnng, nnng," he felt himself explode.

"Yaaaahhhhhh, ahhhhhhh, ahhhhhhh, nnng, nnng, nnnng.

He had no idea how long he had writhed and twisted in the most exquisite, joyous feeling he had ever known, but gradually the feeling subsided and as he stopped working his boyhood and lay there gasping for breath, he realized he hadn't peed on himself. He didn't know what had happened, but he hadn't peed on himself. He had, though, just experienced the most incredible, the most amazing, the coolest, neatest thing ever!

He gazed down at his penis. It was too sensitive to hold now, too sensitive to even touch. It still stood up rigid, bobbing over his tummy and red from the vigorous rubbing it had just undergone.

He felt so tired and wonderful and exhausted and happy and sleepy and...

Thank you for reading Chapter One of A Curious Set of Misfits. If you would like to comment on the story, please email chriswriter @ Thanks!