Kids today! They're nothing like we were when we were young. Or are they?

A little tale of urban delinquency, based on the kids we see every day.

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Roy.

sunbeamtb@yahoo.co.uk

Street Kids

The six of us hang around on the street most every day after school. Or instead of school, quite often. Dan (Daniel) and Pie (Peter) are 15, Ants (Anthony), Key (Kieran) and Jay (James) are 14, and Rye (Ryan) is 13.

I'm Ants, by the way.

Anyway, we hang around, ride our bikes up and down (or Dan's, Key's, Jay's and mine -- the others haven't got bikes, so we share.), Wrestle, share fags (cigarettes) and tins of beer (when the `rents aren't able to see us) and generally mess up the neighbourhood. You know us by our uniform -- track suits, trainers and baseball caps.

Graffitti, empty beer tins, fish & chip papers decorating the streets, yes, that's where we've been. Broken glass in bus shelters and `phone boxes? We-e-ell, yes, probably us too. We don't mean to vandalise stuff, we're just having fun. There's fuck all else to do around here, anyway.

So why am I telling you about us? Oh yes, Thursday evening. It's the sort of story you're here to read.

We, that's Dan, Key, Rye and me were hanging out, down by the main road, on the corner. You know, where there's that wide strip of grass from the pavement to the bushes. Yes, the bushes we hide in if anyone's after us, like the law or one of the old fogies who live further up the street if we've been shouting a lot. And where we go to have a can of beer, or if Pie's nicked a joint from his brother. It's some seriously good shit, I have to watch what I say and do if I've had a good drag at it.

What might I do? Well, you know I like boys -- you didn't? Oh shit, now I've told you. Still, you won't say anything will you? Not if you don't want a stone through your window or your car tyres knifed, you won't.

Well, now you know, I can tell you that when I've had a good joint, I seriously want to get into Pie's trackies, and I want his hands in mine. Know what I mean? Yeah, he's a really attractive kid -- to me, at any rate. If he knew what I dream of us doing when I'm beating it in the bathroom at night, well, he'd break both my legs, and something else, I'm sure. One night, when I've had five or six cans and shared a couple of his brother's joints, I'll do it, I'm sure. Then I'll be in a wheelchair and pissing into a plastic bag the rest of my life.

Anyway, Thursday. Rye's riding Dan's bike, skid-turning on the grass, wheelies in the air an' all, Key and me were on ours, just circling round, generally cutting up the grass, when Dan wants his bike back.

Rye won't give it, and keeps riding close then circling away to stop him grabbing it. Dan's getting pretty pissed at him, and threatens to push him off.

"Fuck you!" Rye shouts as he rides close again, then away. Dan's ready for him next time, and pushes him and the bike over. Rye is real mad and goes for Dan, punching and kicking. Now Dan, being the eldest of us, doesn't really like Rye, he tolerates him as one of us, but that's about it. So he grabs Rye in a neck hold, and his arms are strong enough to almost choke the kid. Rye kicks and pulls, they both go over and are rolling in the muddy grass, which doesn't improve Dan's temper. He won't let go of the neck hold, and Rye can't escape but won't calm down either. Dan doesn't want to seriously hurt the kid, what with him being younger and smaller, he just wants to teach him a lesson, and a good one at that.

He's pulled Rye up and is standing again, holding him tight against himself, bending back with his leg forward to lift Rye off the ground, and shoves his other hand down Rye's trackie trousers to grab him there. Next thing, he's dragging him, still in the neck hold, into the bushes. Key and I drop our bikes and run to watch the -- what we thought was going to be a fight, but once in the clearing between the bushes and a house wall we see the shape of Dan's hand wanking Rye in his trackies.

"Horny bastard had a hard on when I grabbed him!" explained Dan, "Pull his trackies down!" he said to us. "I'll teach him to give me my bike when I want it!"

Key and I go either side and grab Rye's trackies and yank them to his knees, exposing Dan's hand doing some seriously fast wanking of Rye's hard 4-3/4 incher. Rye is still struggling and kicking, not as much, but still trying to escape. Of course I pop a bone immediately at the sight, and glace at Key hoping he doesn't see. He's got his hand down his trackies wanking too!

I haven't had a drink, I haven't smoked a joint, but I take the two steps over to Key and slip my hand down his arm to his hand. He looks at me, then pulls his hand out, allowing me to carry on for him! He uses his hands to pull the front of his trackies down under his balls, then I feel one of his hands pushing past my trackies waistband and holding my cock!

"Pull `em down!" I whisper, and we stop for a second as he stoops and pulls my trackies down to my thighs, then resumes wanking me! This is too good to be true, alright it isn't Pie, but I've had a few sessions dreaming about Key too.

Rye suddenly stops struggling, tenses up then with a "Urhhhhh!" shoots a huge jet of cum at the wall, followed by three more. That takes me over the top and I shoot hard right at Dan's hand still holding Rye's cock. Key strokes me faster, lifting my cock a bit so that the next two shots hit Rye's trackie jacket, before I turn and the final three jets of my cum sail past them both onto the bushes.

"Faster, Ant, Faster!" Key gasps so I wank him as hard as I can, and Rye's eyes open just in time to see the thickest rope of cum I've ever seen launch from Key's cock and land on the ground over a metre and a half away. He bends his knees as two more ropes leap from him and land about half that distance away, and a final one just runs out and down over my fingers. Without thinking, I lift my hand to my face and lick it off.

"Ewww! Gross!" Rye shrieks, his fight and embarrassment momentarily forgotten, then I see what I have done. Dan looks disgusted too, but Key just looks at me. I think I can see questions in his eyes.

"Ewww!" I say, "Why did I do that? It's awful!"

But it's put a question about me in all three minds.

Three of us pull up our trackies, and I'm sure I see a large bulge in Dan's. We push back out through the bushes, and the evening's gathering is over. Dan grabs his bike and rides off, Rye just walks away without turning to look at Key and me.

We pick up our bikes and climb on, then stay there, wanting to talk but not knowing what to say.

Key stands on his pedals, balancing the bike.

"Come to mine if you like." he says. "The `rents are out till late." and rides off.

I know I'm hard again in my trackies, and I know he'll take care of that. I cycle off, chasing him.