Date: Sat, 12 Jan 2002 16:37:52 +0000
From: Java Biscuit <javabiscuit@hotmail.com>
Subject: Willow, chapter six

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 aint real.

Feedback: javabiscuit@hotmail.com

Willow ~ chapter six

by Biscuit


My grandfather's way of touching me was rubbing
against me in his lap. I can't think he got much more
than aroused from it. I don't remember him having
orgasms. I sometimes did. When I spent the night
with him. I'd sleep in his bed and he'd hold me and
pet me while I got drowsy. I do remember him
holding me on his stomach. But mostly what I
remember is knowing that his cock was there, and
that it was hard, and trying to assist him, without
seeming to do it, in pressing it against me.

Even though I was most often jealous of Leon, for
having Willow, I know there was another part of
me, jealous of Willow. I didn't feel much of an
attraction to Leon, but I think I wished I'd had the
freedom to openly touch my grandfather.

To me, he was what handsome was. The little bit
I resembled him, having dark eyes and hair, was a
source of pride. I loved the physical attention he
gave me, the back rubs, the cuddling, the idle hand
on my head or shoulder, him stroking my hair.

The first time I was really aware that I was feeling
his hard cock was when I was about six, after a
Thanksgiving dinner, curled up with him in his
recliner. We still lived in New York but he'd asked
my mom to bring me for the holiday. She, I'm sure,
couldn't wait to escape after the huge meal and visit
friends in town. I was more than content to be left
behind to watch football with him while the rest of
the family buzzed and visited around us.

I knew my own little prick felt good if I touched
it when it was hard, if I rubbed it with my fingers
or pressed it against something. And I knew that
Manny Whaite's cock was like a stallion to the
pony between my legs. I'd seen him undressed any
number of times, pissing or getting into or out of
his clothes. During the summer he'd let me come
spend the night on one of the boats as a treat from
time to time. "Only a boy," my mom would say,
wrinkling her nose, "would think of a night on a
stinking boat as fun." On the boat, nobody was
shy about baring their asses.

I'd gotten the chance to see him naked, never as
much as I wanted, but enough to be in love with
his long heavy looking cock. It was every bit as
big as Leon's but, I thought, much more handsome.
Dark skinned and shrouded with jet black hair. The
best was to see it hard, like it was first thing in the
morning. But it rarely happened since waking up
earlier than he did was almost impossible.

On that Thanksgiving night, in the drowsy heat
of his lap, with one of my aunt's million afghans
tucked around me, I became aware of his cock
getting hard, changing shape under me. Before she
left, my mom had washed me up and put me in my
pajamas. I was sprawling, in a daze of happy
comfort when I felt what I knew was his swelling
erection through the thin flannel of my pants.

Hard, unimaginably big. My mind gaped in wonder
as I explored the shape in my mind, my eyes closed
to picture it better. I was practically sitting on it as
it lifted up the leg of his loose pants.

At first I was only amazed, then I remember a jolt
of fear hit me, that he'd be mad if he knew I was
doing that; thinking about his dick, feeling it under
my backside. Guiltily, I tried to slowly move to his
other thigh, away from what I shouldn't be touching.
He didn't try to stop me from moving, but once I'd
gotten to the other side of his lap, his hand wrapped
around my thighs and settled me so his big cock was
pressed up under them and he patted my legs gently
as if to settle me there.

That's when it dawned on me that he liked this secret
touching. The thought made me melt, a feeling that
swirled through my groin and stiffened my own
cock in a parody of his. I was so aroused I wanted to
turn over on my stomach and press my own hard
nub against him, but I didn't dare. Not like Willow
could do to Leon. I had to wait for chance to make
it happen. And that didn't come until the middle of
the night.

I've no idea when he put me to bed or when he got
in with me. But there was a time in the night I woke
up to a feeling so sweet and warm between my legs
that I was shaking. I was on top of him, and he
was murmuring, "Hush, amado."  Sweetheart. I don't
know what he'd done, or what I'd done to make it
happen, but I know I was quivering from coming.


I guess I wanted Willow to be impressed that I had
a boat named after me, and that the weathered and
handsome captain of that boat was my grandfather.

Didn't happen like that.

There was an almost instant chill in the air when
the two of us got down to the deck of the Little
Tom. Where I'd feared attraction between them,
there was its complete opposite. Magnets turned the
wrong way around couldn't have repelled harder
than Manny Whaite and Willow. My grandfather
saw the small Chinese boy and his face changed. As
if he was seeing something distasteful and trying to
hide it, like a guest that's had an unappetizing plate
of food served to them.

Willow closed up tight. He retreated completely
into what I thought of as his soldier's face. Stern
and serious.

I was so unprepared, so hurt and baffled. The
entire fifteen minutes or so that we stayed on the
boat, my grandfather hardly spoke to us, and then,
only me. He'd been talking with a guy he'd just hired
on and I tried to tell myself that it was because they
were busy that he was acting so strange. I knew it
wasn't, though.

Manny Whaite had never been too busy for me in
my life. When I approached him to take my leave,
with Willow standing off at a distance, looking out
on the water, my grandfather put his arm around
my shoulders and drew me against his chest in a
quick hard hug and held me there. I was in a loose
embrace of his arm, my back to his chest. He leaned
his head down and said low in my ear, "That boy."
Then he added the Portuguese word for faggot. He
said it so quiet I could almost believe I hadn't heard
him say it, but I had. With a swat to my ass he sent
me on my way, speaking in a normal tone.

"Come see me tomorrow, amado."

I did not speak up for my friend or myself. A
spear of shame shot through me. It was as if he'd
whispered the word nigger to me, so forbidden and
reviled was such a word in my life. Whispered it to
me, without seeing my own dark face in front of his
eyes. My throat closed up and my face burned with
a panicked flush.

Willow had already edged his way to the other side
of the boat, only waiting for me to make his escape.
Without another word spoken, I fled from the boat,
not able to put enough distance fast enough between
me and Manny Whaite.

If only I could say that the shame burning me was
for my grandfather's crude prejudice. It was, but
it wasn't. Not really.

Much worse, I was terrified of the moment his eyes
would clear and he'd know me for the thing he hated.
I was seeing my name stripped off the boat in disgrace,
the end of him loving me. He'd hate me like he seemed
to instantly hate Willow. All those touches he thought
I'd given to him in innocence would turn hateful and
dirty when he saw me for who I was.

Manny Whaite knew that my mother's father was gay.
He never referred to his homosexuality, at all. But
Willow, in his eyes, was a new and active threat that
I had to be made to see and avoid.

A day that had promised to be heaven on earth was
falling apart in my hands. I could hardly look up
from my feet as we made our way back down the
wharf.

Near one of the foot long hot dog shacks at the end
of the wharf, two guys I knew were half on their
bikes, half propped with a foot on the sidewalk. I
got a sick feeling of wanting to hide Willow from
them. My stomach twisted as we got close, and one
of them, a kid named Brandon, looked up and saw
me. His eyes slid to Willow. Curious, trying to fit
him to me.

"Baby-sitting, Whaite?"

"My buddy Willow," I said, the words forced out
as casual as I could get them to sound. The other
kid, Jase, nodded, indifferent, but I saw his eyes
flicker down Willow's bare legs, like he was
checking out a girl. I was hearing the word my
grandfather had said, pounding inside me, even
those these boys would just say, fag.

I'm not a brave person and those kids had said
nothing, done nothing to me or Willow. And the
boy I loved asked for no protection from me. He
was much tougher than I was. But there was a
battle raging in my head, in my gut, and I dared
to touch Willow, as if I had to take a stand in the
eyes of the world. Earlier I'd found every excuse
I could to touch him. Now I did it defiantly, not
with joy, but like I was striking an invisible foe
by laying my hand on his warm shoulder and
squeezing it.

"See you guys around," I said, urging him to
walk on with me, with the pressure of my sweaty
palm guiding him.

"See ya," Brandon said, and without looking
back I examined every possible nuance of the
simple words he'd spoken, looking for insult.
Nothing. God, I was a mess.

"I want to go in here," Willow said, a block
down the way, shrugging my hand off of him.
We were in front of the bookstore.

It was a shop that was open year round but I'd
never been in it. The old guy behind the counter
saw us and smiled, his whole face lighting up, his
shaggy eyebrows lifting almost comically. He
looked vaguely familiar to me and then I realized
he was someone my grandfather Sterns knew. He
and his lover, or whatever, companion,  had been
at our house for one of those afternoon gatherings
I avoided. Mostly I stayed away because they were
boring. Guys sipping drinks, talking about books
and politics. I wasn't forbidden to hang around but
I could see, if a pair of eyes fell on me, that they
were wishing I'd take a hike so the talk could range
more freely.

"Willow!" the guy said. "Excellent timing. Your
books are here. But they're pretty heavy, you might
want to wait for Leon to carry them."

"I can carry them," I said. Both of them looked
at me.

"Aren't you Tommy Sterns?" the guy said, like
he was trying to place me.

I was both proud that he knew me and a little
embarrassed that I'd never been in his shop. I
didn't correct him about my name. I think it was
the first time ever, that I almost wished that it was
my name, that being a Whaite didn't feel so much
like an honor.

"George Boyd," he said to me, "but you
wouldn't remember that, I'm sure. I know your
granddad. So, you think you can heft these things
for our friend here?"

They were huge! One was a big fat book like one
of my mom's art books, it seemed to be a book
of pictures of China. The other was a big ass text
book about something called a Chinese Diaspora; it
meant nothing to me. I lifted them off the counter
and knew my arms would be breaking by the time
we got to the cottage, but I didn't care.

"Sure," I said. "How much are they?" I wanted to
buy them for him too, with that twenty burning
in my pocket, little knowing that Leon had spent
many times that to order these books for his boy.

"All paid for," he said. The way that guy looked
at Willow was as different as day from night from
how my grandfather had looked at him. And it
was nothing like Leon did, or even like me. He
beamed at him; I could feel the delight coming off
him in waves, like the bookseller out at the flea
market. One gay guy, one straight guy, both of
them flat out in love with Willow's love of books.

Willow looked at me a little doubtfully, but he
nodded. He took the text book away from me.

"I'll carry this one, you can do that one."

We stopped a couple of times on our journey,
which once again felt like something grand to
me, even if not quite as lustrous as when we'd
set out. My grandfather still lurked in the back
of my mind. Faggot, he'd called him, sweetheart,
he'd called me. How could I be both to Manny
Whaite?

At the cottage, Willow put his books away. That
disappointed me, a little. I would have liked to
see those pictures in the one book. But I guess
he wanted to look at them alone, first. Later he
would let me see it.

Tide was up, and we swam, ending up lazing
in the shallows of the water right at the foot of
the steps to the cottage. There's nothing quite
as luxurious as that, planting your ass in the
sand and letting the gentle bay waves wash over
you with the sun burning down. Better than in
the ocean even, where the waves drag the sand
out from under you fast.

My shorts were up on the deck. I'd taken to
wearing boxers under them, it's what guys my
age were doing, and it was a whole lot better
to swim in if the urge struck. You could ditch
them after and be bareassed in your cutoffs,
instead of stuck in a pair of salt stiff pants.

I was hard, but I'd been like that since we'd
gotten in the water, more or less. Propped back
on my elbows I watched the water swirl around
my hard dick, puffing up the loose boxers. We
were deep enough so I was still mostly covered
when the wave retreated, dragging against my
cock in the other direction. Man, did it feel
good.

Who I was in the world, what anyone thought
of me, what did it matter then? Tiny agate like
pebbles rolled in the waves. Willow picked one
up and put it, wet and cool, on the dry middle
of my chest, and my cock tightened up harder.

Just a boy, he'd called me. My girlfriends didn't
matter. Well, he was right. I was still just a boy.
For him to put any stock or faith in me would
be ludicrous. He needed Leon. He only wanted
me. It would take years for me to become a
solid, trustworthy being in his eyes. But in
the meantime, like that afternoon, I'd have his
kisses, his hand stroking me to bliss.