Date: Tue, 08 Jan 2002 05:37:31 +0000 From: Java Biscuit Subject: Willow, chapter two This is a story involving teen/boy, adult/youth, 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's not meant to encourage unsafe, unprotected sex, or to condone sex with minors. These people figments of my imagination. Feedback: javabiscuit@hotmail.com Willow ~ chapter two by Biscuit I don't think Willow ever would have talked to me, let alone come out to see me on the beach, if Leon hadn't made him do it. They were still new to each other then and Leon was trying to get Willow to act more like a kid. He basically pushed him out and told him to go play. Playing was a shaky concept for Willow. I must have cruised the stretch of beach in front of their cottage twenty times that day, hoping to see him. Leon told me later that it seemed like I was there every time he looked out the window. He teased Willow about me, knowing I was out there looking for him. They were coming and going from the street side all day, moving their stuff in from the van, shopping and getting the cottage set up. It was near dusk, and I was back on my patrol of the beach front after dinner, when the cottage door opened, and Willow came out. He looked at me and started slowly making his way down the stairs. I was stunned, after all my lurking, to have him appear and head right for me. He stopped about three feet away with a look of pure, grim determination on his face. His stick straight hair, cut across his brows and right at his chin, lifted like silk in the breeze. I saw that he had tiny gold hoops in his ears. "Were you looking for me?" he asked. Whatever I expected it wasn't his perfect, unaccented English. I saw him glance over his shoulder and there was Leon in the doorway, waving at him in a shooing motion. "Yeah," I said. "Kind of. Want to walk around?" He nodded, and looked at me as if he was thinking, let's get this over with. I was so pathetic, so smitten with him, I didn't even care. I wanted him to like me but I didn't expect it. To me, especially at first, he was more like an object I couldn't resist, than a boy I was trying to befriend. We ended up wandering around the wet sand of low tide, looking at junk. When the tide is real low, you can walk out forever. It gets sticky and muddy the further out you go, but you can find things. Pieces of glass that are worn down smooth, sometimes you'd find an entire bottle that looked frosted. The light was going but we kept walking. I just liked him being with me, looking at him. Even his little feet fascinated me in the blue rubber flip-flops he was wearing. His toes were round and brown. He was wearing cotton drawstring pants and a blue jean jacket. Having heard his voice, he didn't seem so young to me, just tiny, and beautiful. Thinking of it now, I wonder again, if I'm right about his age. Maybe he's telling the truth that he was nine. God knows he didn't sound any younger than that. I was trying to think of an excuse to touch him. I wished he'd fall over so I could pick him up, like before. Not likely. He was graceful and sure footed. I think that's partly why it embarrassed him so much that the dog had knocked him over, made him look small and weak. By the time I met Willow, puberty had already hit me. I was eleven, close to twelve. Pretty young for it, but my dick didn't know that. It was an unending source of both wonder and embarrassment for me. I'd had the big talk from my mom, about how it was natural and nothing to be ashamed of but she wasn't the one getting boned up day and night. Because a breeze blowing the right direction could give me a hardon, I didn't connect how often I'd had my hand in my pants, that day, to Willow. Not until he was bent over in front of me, did I make the connection between him and the state of my dick. The way I felt about him didn't seem like a sex thing until I was staring at his ass, like round peaches in his pants, and my dick got so hard, so fast, that the rest of me dimmed, like a brownout. "Why didn't you bring your dog?" he was asking me. "What?" I said, stupidly. I started tugging at the fly of my jeans, trying to point my dick so it wouldn't look so obvious. "I'm not afraid of that dog," he said, firmly. He'd bent over to look at something shiny in the mud and was glancing over his shoulder, maybe to see if I believed him about the dog. But what he saw was the hard arch of my dick up my stomach and my guilty hand right next to it. I saw his eyes take it in and felt my face get hot, praying he was too young to know what it meant. He knew, all right. What I had no way of knowing, was that my hardon would put Willow at ease. He was insecure as hell when it came to playing games or having a friend. Being knocked over and scared by a big dog had shamed him, terribly. But me getting boned up looking at his ass put me on right square on his turf. When he stood up, with the wet quarter he'd found in the sand, his little shoulders were relaxed and his mouth wasn't tight. He was looking at me, coolly, one fingertip brushing the hair back from the side of his face. Somehow, in that moment I stopped being the older kid and he stopped being a kid at all. "A quarter," Willow said, holding it out to show me, then he sent the coin spinning up into the air, and caught it. "Heads or tails?" he asked, holding it in the trap of his hands. "Tails," I said, to say something. He peered at it and dropped it in his jacket pocket. "You win," he said. He walked up close, inches in front of me. He stood about as high as my ribs. So perfect, so incredibly pretty in the last of the light. Then I felt the back of his hand rub against my dick, up and down. "What do you think you're doing?" I put my hand over his but didn't pull it off of me. "Don't you like it?" Like wasn't the word. Willow was a boy who could bring grown men to their knees. Me, he pulverized, instantly. He started using the knobs of his knuckles, working them up and down me, like he knew where every hot nerve was and was hitting them one by one. I didn't die, even though I felt like I should. I lived, looking down into Willow's coal black eyes, still breathing, and letting him rub my dick. I didn't try to answer him. I was so close to shooting off that every run of his fingers was making my balls clutch. God, he was brutal. His other hand moved between my legs, curling under my tight sac. I reached for him, pulling his head against my chest, my other hand falling down his back. My hips were going, trying to fuck into his little hand. He ground his palm into the head of my dick and it was over. I could have powered a small city with the charge that exploded up from my balls. Willow pulled away from me, leaving me bent in half with my hands on my knees, panting for air. My whole crotch was throbbing and my pants were flooded. "If you come back tomorrow," he said, backing away from me, "bring that dog." He turned and took off at a run, me staring after him. I couldn't stand upright, let alone chase him. I watched him running, shadowy, speeding through the dark. I could make him out, getting to the steps of his cottage and see him outlined when the door opened, against the light. I took my time getting home, trying to make sense of it. I'd never seen anyone like Willow before, never been touched by anyone like he'd touched me. But there was something. It nagged at me. For all the strangeness of Willow, there was something not strange, almost familiar. All I understood that night was that I'd be getting up early in the morning and walking down the beach with the dog. I did bring Sprinkles to Willow. He got his chance to show me he wasn't afraid. He'd made me come in my pants, he'd proved his bravery, and on that footing he began to allow me to be his friend. You might think that living in a town where I had a slew of cousins, I wouldn't have lacked for friends. My cousins were in school with me. In and out of school, they kept their distance. When I did finally make friends in town, none of the Whaite family's kids weren't among them. That summer, I really only had Willow. I know I made it sound like my grandfather was always there for me, but it wasn't like that. It wasn't until I was four, or five that he even bothered about me one way or another. Up until then the Whaites ignored my mother and me, and we ignored them. She'd had an affair with my dad. They'd talked about getting married, but she'd never had any use for his family. To them, she was flake that they hoped he'd get over. She'd given me my dad's name, not because she wanted me to part of that family, just because he was my dad, and there was nothing else of him to give me. I know this story more from hearing it told than from memory. A summer day, when I was five (according to her, four, if my Grandfather tells it) she took me to the wharf to look at the fishing boats. She always emphasized, in her telling, that she wasn't looking for Manny Whaite, but my grandfather was there, out on the deck of Belle Yvette. He tells it that she'd brought me to show me off to him. Both of them say that he saw us and was so moved by how much I looked like my dad, that he called out to her and asked her to bring me to him. I became my grandfather's pet and the rest of the Whaite family hated me for it. They were as upset as my mom was when he named his boat after me. Though, of course, for a different reason. There were plenty of boy cousins of mine, and other children of his own that he could have named a boat for. Maybe he did it to piss them off. I think he did it because he loved me. He loved me with a passion that bordered on what Willow and Leon shared, and that may be the real reason I was never tempted to reveal their secret to anyone. My grandfather never touched me like Leon did Willow. It was never like that between us. But it wasn't exactly foreign to me when I saw Willow in bed with Leon. Usually Willow came out of the cottage when I showed up out on the beach. But there came a morning when it was raining hard and I was getting soaked and worried that Willow wouldn't come out. I went up to knock on the door and it wasn't shut tight. It swung open when I touched it. And I saw them. Willow on his knees in bed, his hands wrapped around Leon's big hard dick. It looked miles long in his small hands. I'd seen one as big as Leon's before. My grand- father's. I'd felt it. Not in my hands like that. I had never wrapped my fists around it like Willow was doing. I'd only caught glimpses of it, and felt it rub against me. My eyes were glued to Leon's, so huge and swollen looking in Willow's fingers. My grandfather was almost the physical opposite of Leon, except for that cock. Manny Whaite was under six feet tall. His hair was the darkest shade of brown, even in his sixties. His hands were big and rough, so cracked that sometimes my hair would get caught when he stroked my head. "Look what the cat dragged in," Leon laughed when he saw me standing there staring at them.