Date: Wed, 8 Jun 2005 21:08:59 -0700
From: Timothy Stillman <comewinter@earthlink.net>
Subject: g/m Adult/young friend "Brandy's Method"

			     "Brandy's Method"

				    by

			     Timothy Stillman

"I am beautiful. I am 14. I have worked the Tenderloin with my tender
loin ever since I was asked, not unkindly to leave home, after my parents
found I was gay. I am flamboyant. I wiggle my butt too much. I
parentheses my crotch too much. I have a big bulge there. Want to see? Up
until last year you could have caught me flutterybying at the Dicks XXXXX
Video Shop. With my rich kid's clothing, and my beautiful almost haloed
face and flawless skin, I am not like the scaggies all around me down
there. They scared me. For sure. Not now though. I have been bought.

He loves the dimples above my ass the most. My slender legs. Virtually
hairless. My twining arms round his softly and soothingly as he fucks me.
But he fucks me kindly. He is in love. He does not harm me. No one has
ever harmed me. Not even my parents, who I may have mentioned kindly
asked me to leave when it dawned on them, quite suddenly, that I was gay.

They send me money once a month. David does not need me. David worships
me. I do everything David requires of me. I don't mean it to sound cold
like that. It is not mechanical. I am most willing. I am warm flesh and
sweet kisses for him. I do not doubt him. I do not think he will ever
love anyone but me.

He has a nice house. An extraordinary house out here at the Pacific
Palisades. He has a terrific swimming pool. We love to swim in it at
midnight. The water is always warm. He likes the erect cock of me in the
water. He loves to suck me off. There is tenderness in him. There is
tenderness in me. I've discovered there are no words for sex or sexual
body parts that don't come across as filthy and mean spirited.

I have never been with a mean spirited man or boy. They have all loved me
in their fashion. They have always done what I let them do. And I have
always done what they have let me do. I have learned things from them.
How to be a sylph. How to be coy. How to be suggestive. How to strip very
slowly and show them my still a little boy body. I have never had anyone
hurt me in any way. And they always pay me so nicely. I have always been
THE hot commodity. I have always been THE STAR. Some of the rough boys
had sex with me and always watched out for the me of then.

I wish David would not manipulate me as much as he does. He thinks he
must pay me, or buy me things, or be extra syrupy nice to me. He does not
have to do that at all. He loves to rub my flat tummy. He loves to suck
me at the bottom of the pool. He writes poetry to me. He is never blue
when I am around. Even when he sucks me at the bottom of the pool. That
is a joke. Laugh please.

I am a marionette. He pulls the strings. Men and boys the last four years
have always done that. And I don't mind. They called me their puppy or
their kitty boy. And they have danced with me naked. And they have sucked
everything that I have. My penis is hairless. My balls are small. My
penis is small. They like it that way. David says he would die without
me. I say when you leave I will die without you. He believes it. I mean
it to. I say it with all my heart.

To him, he thinks sex is commerce with me. I tell him no. I tell him in
my little boy voice. I am coquettish. I sometimes wear a sun dress that
David likes to take off me a bit at a time. He tells me that he has never
known anyone who will do literally anything for him, and ask nothing in
return. I have never asked for anything at all. He does not understand. I
am his. Ask, as all the men and boys in the past asked, when I was a
hustler, with my brown eyes and my brown long hair and my dimpled chin
and my cheeks good enough to pinch, and all my body like little butterfly
dust all over it, and they are charmed. And they paid me. I never asked
them either. And when I left them, they did not want to admit it, they
asked if they could see me again, I said....and they said quickly, no,
let it be this way....they hungered at the top of the hour and during it
and at the end of it. It was sweet pain to them. I never went to bed with
the same one twice, until David.

David is wealthy. David has been tricked by boys before. David keeps even
after this long a time thinking I am tricking him, that I am a
firecracker ready to pop. Mom and Dad send money to the bank. I rarely
pick it up. I have no need. David has friends. He never lets his friends
see me. If he wanted me to, I would. He does not, therefore I don't. We
do everything in his huge airy home. We watch movies he likes. I say I
like them too. He wants me to be everything to him. I will be. I am.

He watches me in bed when I am sleeping and he does not know I am awake.
He takes my BVDs off sometimes and sucks me as I sleep. Sometimes I cum
and wake up groggily, pretend groggily, and we snuggle and I ask him what
I can do for him, and he says suck me Brandy. So I do.

Once he told me he thought I would bring street thugs to beat him up and
take his money. I laughed. He laughed. I told him no. And he knew by the
way I said it, that I meant it. We are now lying on the heavy shag
carpeting of the living room. We are naked and facing each other. The
lights are low and yellowish. A CD is playing in the background. Blue
water is in the pool. The plasma screen is on and riots of soft wild
colors are floating back and forth, through and forward and dancing
decorously on it. He looks in my eyes. I wish he would not wear so many
chains on his neck. It is so retro.

We have had a light dinner of avocado and pears. It is the weekend. He is
free from the studio till Monday when he will have to brush up on his
lines. He is not a famous actor. A bit actor who is acceding step by step
as of late. He blames his good luck, kiddingly, on me. He is not kidding.

He holds my head. He rubs some of the butterfly dust from my cheeks and
lips. He kisses them. I kiss him in return. He is a man of graying hair.
He is a man who is not in too good a shape. But he is young enough. It
bothers him. He tries to work out more. For me. I tell him it doesn't
matter. That I have been with all kinds and all shapes and all ages, and
they all treated me kindly and that was what was important. And it was.
In more ways than he knows--yet.

He thinks I do things first sometimes. He is wrong. I always get him to,
sometimes when he is unawares, to suggest in some way big or small, to
ask me to do them. And then I comply. He thinks I will leave him. They
all thought I would leave them. They bought me. And they let me go so
unwillingly. They were business. David was my masterwork. I had made him
a watercolor of need and want, in my head. He was my forever. And he
loved me and was gentle and I loved him and was gentle, and that was the
way the image lay that night. On the carpeting. By the big glass window.
And the door to the terrace. The door with the butterfly decals on it,
the glass door, so no one would run into it, thinking it was open.

"David," I said. My voice was like a little minx, he said, eager to be
touched and fondled and kissed and desired and taught little boy things
that grown up boys if they were lucky learned to do. He turned me over,
signaling it with his hand on my left hip. I got to my knees and stuck my
rosy red into the air. He put his hands on my hips, and softly slowly
delicately mounted me and I sighed breathily and shook my head a little,
my brown hair that cascaded down on my face, he liked that part the best,
and I moaned as if he had come into my nursery and was Peter Pan, instead
of the other way round.

He pushes in and out so carefully, caressing my chest, calling my name.
And I do as he wishes. I will always do as he wishes. Till I am too old
and he will love me no more. But he loves me for me, whatever me is. And
he will love me for a longer time than most I think.

I've learned to kill, you see. Not literally. But figuratively. I
learned it with those other men and boys, and now I extend it to more
than mere hours with someone. I suggest nothing. I let him. I do not pity
him. I make sure he knows that. But I am his puppet. And a puppet cares
by doing what the puppeteer tells him. And the puppeteer has no desire
but to make the puppet real.

But the puppet is not even Pinocchio. The puppet is nothing but what the
man makes of him. Which would seem to be heaven. But the puppet kills by
indifference. The puppet sucks the life out by not caring. The puppet has
no dislike of David. In fact the puppet likes him. And David shells out.
The puppet does not desire that. The puppet desires to kill his
puppeteer. Not out of anger. Or vengeance. Not that the puppeteer will
even know it. Till the puppeteer sees through the puppet.

As David has begun lately to do. I am the warm gentle caring child he has
always dreamed about. But out of the corner of his eye, out of the sound
of a bit of my voice, out of a certain nanosecond of hesitancy, he sees,
suspects, deduces something that makes a horrible sort of sense to David,
then he covers it up with me and we are one again.

Try it sometime. Be everything someone wants you to be. Be their doll, be
their knight in shining armor, don't overdo it, enjoy it, who after all
is it harming? David? He is having the time of his life. He lives for me.
He is defensive sometimes, senses sometimes, but don't all relationships
have a bit of that in them. Maybe cause all relationships are a bit of a
lie if they are relationships at all?

I do not mock, mimic, beg, cry, insult--I am kind and considerate as any
one could want. And I suck the psychic blood out of him, just a bit here
and there, not enough so's he could miss it. And it works well.

So...lesson for today...indifference is the coldest most calculated thing
in the world, it kills you by the inch...and is practiced by everyone
because all the self help books and the TV psychologist assholes go on
and on about it...it is not murder...it is not calculated....or
callused...or cold....

At the very same time. It is like fighting a cloud. You can't get up
there to do it. And if you did, there is nothing there to fight. No one
gets arrested for indifference. No one literally dies from it if you work
it right, and if they do, it's not on your conscience. David and I will
be together for a long time. I think. And when he tires of me, he says he
won't, but he will, then I will go. And we will have fond memories of
him.

And he will never know or sometime will or maybe guess a bit here and
there that will spoil the memories or not, I do not care, and it will be
over and I will move on to god knows what, age is everything, don't let
anyone kid you, chickenhawks should take some pride in that they admit
what they are. And when I am no longer a chicken? Maybe another way.
Maybe I shall be David. We shall see. I know the game. The little tiny
secret. I can live with it on the other side of the age spectrum.

Anyways...now he is hot and hard and shooting in me and my tiny ass
buckles and bucks and he cums in me and we hold so breathlessly still
while I shoot too.....and then we collapse on each other. I under him. He
on top, still some sperm for my stomach.....and he looks in my eyes, and
I see for a second in his heaving face above my own pale wretched one,
for anal sex always hurts, don't let them kid you about that either, he
looks directly into my eyes and in the blond dim lighting, his face goes
from sweaty joy to bemusement and then it seems to me, hard to say
because of all the shadows and our faces contorted after this kind of
sex, sees something that scares him, that worries him in some way I'm
not familiar with.

He looks deeply, brings his face down close to mine and his eyes closer
to mine and he looks and looks like he will fall in, as though there is
nothing there in my eyes and he can't figure out where the pupils of my
eyes have gone....have I become Little Orphan Annie or what?..and then
the CD stops, and he sighs, illusion he might think, and we lie there
tangled, till I say, a catch in my heart, let's go take a shower and
take in a movie. He says great, a bit too quickly. And he helps me up a
little more quickly still. We need to forget. The shower is comfortable.
The water is warm and prickly hitting us and bracing. He says he will
never leave me.

That is my line.

But I let him have it.

We soap each other and wash the lather off.

"You know, David?"

He kissed the top of my matted wet hair.

"I just love a good bang." And I giggle so prettily, my little butterfly
giggle.

I smile and kiss his chest and bend downward as he pushes my mouth onto
him. Something..his mind not on it...elsewhere...but in a mere
moments...he starts to push himself further in my mouth..

the end


Timothy Stillman
comewinter@earthlink.net