A vignette, as used here, is a short descriptive scene, less about plot and story than focusing on an impression, a moment in time. Meaning is evoked through imagery and the interaction of characters and setting. A vignette is NOT flash fiction.
Jeep Vignettes derive from three vignettes written by ‘Susan,’ and submitted to the Nifty Archive in 2003. They chronicled ‘David’ (me) and her son, ‘Kelly,’ in surprisingly true-to-life situations. Susan’s vignettes may be found here:
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/vignette/.
As Susan wrote in 2003:
“... These vignettes are but glimpses, brief sketches that capture the spirit of their love. Each vignette is a little fuzzy on the edges because that's how I want it. And finally, they're not presented in sequential order for the same reason.”
Jeep Vignettes record significant moments for Luke and me, his grandpa (aka G and Jeep, for GP), beginning when he starts to realize he’s not like other boys. Unfortunately, Nifty’s policy (Author’s checklist #7: Story does not involve adults with infants, toddlers, children younger than 9) prohibits the publication of Jeep Vignettes 1-thru-135. Also, the Ship’s Log entries are NOT written by Luke, because that would violate Author Checklist #6.
Jeep Vignettes are dedicated to a frustrated, yet discriminating reader of Susan’s vignettes. After reading the first three vignettes, at great personal risk and expense, he sought continued satisfaction, even hiring a private investigator. Eventually, a fourth vignette appeared in the Nifty Archive in 2014. Six years later, the still-frustrated, yet discriminating reader imbibes homemade mango liqueur to excess, often in the company of cute Cuban salsa boys, and occasionally hot-blooded Cajun boys.
1. No kids allowed. There's Dr. Seuss for you.
2. It isn't cheap porn, it's literature. If you want the other, go somewhere else.
3. If you live in a backward, repressive state that doesn't allow you to read the things you want, pack up and leave.
4. It's copyrighted.
5. If we can't agree that love occurs regardless of age and gender, put this down and get a life.
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June 18 **** LUKE’S BIRTHDAY #1 @ 10 ****
A
day older but I woke up bigger only I cant say why :) G gave me
uber-cool scuba gear and a neon neopreen wetsuit in yellow and blue
to match my new shades. I put it on and he took photos. Then we took
the dinghy to the reef from yesterday and snorkled
snorkeled.
I found three keeper conch, which was two more than him. We sunbaked
on the north end of the beach for a while and he used Tropic for GSC.
Then, I lay on the dinghy and he went
up there finally.
Reaalllly awesome. He said
I was mostly
the
same, just
a day older.
Only
now I was put the G in GSC. #1
@ 10
:) :) :) It
was max-awesome just like Mom said. Then we walked the beach and
picked up trash. I had to keep stopping so he called me Leaky Lukey.
After dinner we made the settee into a bed and watched GSC movies.
It was still dark when Luke crawled on top of me. Still snoozy, laying his head on my chest, little fingers fondling, pinching nipples, playing around until he was ready to start his next year by waking me up properly. He tugged on underarm hair, maybe pulled out a few strands.
Of course, I was grouchy. “Not even dawn. Go back to sleep.”
Not that I wanted him getting off—he was warm and cuddly, if only he’d stop squirming. Another sleepy minute before I realized he was rubbing his dick against mine, starting something I wasn’t expecting for at least another hour. Impossible to resist a newly minted ten-year-old gay boy.
He nuzzled and whispered into chest fur. “Tongue suck?”
‘Tongue suck’ was our ‘French.’
I answered with a yawn and, “Give me a few minutes to wake up.”
To be honest, I’d have tickled his back for an hour if it meant I could stay in bed, postpone teeth brushing until it was time to get up.
He upped the ante. “Ding-a-lick?”
“Li’l Luke or the big dude?”
No answer forthcoming; however, he started to wriggle lower until my hands clasping his butt brought him to a stop. Hauled him higher and held him in place with his head on my shoulder, rubbing day-old whiskers on his neck and inhaling—he still smelled like Tropic. Licking his shoulders came with hints of sea salt. I’d smeared him with semen the night before, so that, too.
Slowly moving fingertips into the crack of his taut bottom brought giggles, and far greater temptation. Warm flexible silicone carved a cone between his cheeks, the suction cup tight against his opening.
“What’s this doing up there?” Pulling on the rim, tugging against his body’s desire to keep it.
“You should know. You put it there.”
He was asleep when I snuck it in, not even a finger-width, and shy of five inches long; it was fully inserted before I added a couple of squeezes to double the volume.
“Must’ve been while I was dreaming of fucking your little homo ass.”
“I suppose you inflated it in your sleep, too.”
He’d come a long way in just 24 hours, both of us with enough experience to realize my gentle prodding of the less-than-flexible core would stir his urge to irresistible levels. I wondered what his mother would think if she could see him twitching, his narrow pelvis oscillating, working against the inflated plug.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” I murmured, plucking the rim, withdrawing enough that the added thickness stretched his sphincter.
He humped at my belly, bringing his knees alongside my flanks, opening up inside, wriggling, wanting more than me playing with the inflatable plug. Easy to fuck him; even easier to let him do it. However, after eight hours, I figured he needed a break. Instead, I levered on the suction cup, applying reciprocal pressure toward his belly.
“Nice, Jeep... just like that?” he muttered.
He sighed, relaxing, clearly enjoying being impaled. With the extra thickness, used the right way it felt like a teenage boy thrusting away. Still, I depressed the valve, deflating slowly.
“Don’t let the air out.”
I plucked the rim of the suction cup, pulled back a few inches, jabbing on the return. Pretending a pubescent pricklet was fucking him, thinner and faster, a harmless, yet very aggressive rabbit.
“Ahhhh!”
I withdrew gently, reinserted harder, now angling into the pleasure zone; a half-dozen jabs before he clenched. Soon, he scooted around, knees nudging my flanks, looming over me, dribbling saliva on my crotch as I pumped the plug. It was too thin to do more than make him itch for thickness.
“Means you’ve turned into a bottom-boy, this does,” I whispered, sharing another precious moment.
He was high on rectal stimulus, we both were.
He nodded, leaning in, playful kisses seguing to wet puppy licks on my ‘ding-a-ling.’ His mouth settled over the helmet like an all-day sucker, slurping preseminal juice and saliva. No shame, no reluctance now that he’d mastered the oral sex act. He segued to slowly sinking lower as it pushed down his tongue. Getting hotter, especially with his jaws straining to open wider. Eager to deep-throat, yet still not halfway. I caressed his back, shoulders, flanks, encouraging while trying not to distract him.
He raised slowly, stopping with my helmet between his lips, suckling preseminal juice, baby-soft cheeks pulling in, eyes glazed, concentrating as he licked and slurped the sensitive knob. Satiated, he lifted his gaze, bubbly saliva spilling around his lips. Lovingly, I eased him away.
“Was it good?” A murmur, hoarse, excitement lingering with his taste of manliness.
“Gay Sex Camp ought to give proficiency badges,” I whispered back.
Reaching again for his deflated plug, wobbling the suction cup. It seemed looser, a lot looser.
“You want to inflate it again?”
He scrambled off, rooting among sheets and pillows to find the rubber hose and ball. A one click connection and he gave the bulb a tentative squeeze. Right away, he felt a difference, his bright eyes darting to me in a silent query.
I nodded encouragingly. “A couple more, until it feels firmer inside.”
He squashed the bulb using both hands, enough inflation to bring forth…
“Ow, oooh. Now it’s bigger.”
Surprise, surprise. Gay boy, thicker plug, nirvana!
“I can’t believe you got it in while I was asleep, Jeep.”
“Reckon it’ll slide in easy from now on.”
He squeezed again, caught between a sigh and a whimper.
<GSC>
Ten minutes later, he was running around in his birthday suit, sticking his nose into every locker, every drawer, searching high and low in a fruitless effort to find his presents.
“I know you hid them in here, but where?” Wheedling, not demanding, certain his presents were in our cabin. “Am I ‘hot’ or ‘cold’?”
“You’re a gay boy; you were born hot! In fact, burning.”
Grinning as he scowled, looking around. “You’re supposed to give them to me as soon as I wake up.”
“You already got a present.” I beckoned.
“Sucking your cock doesn’t count.”
“Come over here and get your birthday smacks. Then, we’ll talk about it.”
“You just wanna suck Li’l Luke.” He flipped at floppy boy-dick. “Didn’t get me anything, did ya?”
Hands on his hips, frustrated because I wouldn’t give hints. My careless shrug didn’t help.
“I bet you forgot it was my birthday today.” He grinned as he said it.
“’Well I believe I'll have to take part of that wager.’”
It took him a moment. He wasn’t interested in thinking up Cool-quotes, not when it might distract him.
“Tell me where you hid ‘em, Jeep!” Insistent, and spoiled, and too excited to stand still.
“Here’s my best offer. I suck you, plus five smacks on the port side. Then, we cuddle. Five on your other buttock before breakfast. Then, present time.”
I was joking. He knew it.
“Here’s the deal, Jeep…”
He took a step back, frowning with arms folded. My beautiful boy was totally naked, a few light freckles on his nose, wavy hair with bleached highlights.
“You suck Li’l Luke, then; I get to open two presents. Then, breakfast, and I open the rest… If I’m big enough up there, we do it right after.”
He raised his brows, hands slapping his upper arms, pretending impatience. When I didn’t respond he strolled back to the bed, ogling my crotch, 60th percentile grownup cock standing up from its furry nest, still unsatisfied.
“Sounds like a plan, except you left out the birthday smacks, Lukey. Your mom said no sex until smacks...”
Dive-team trained, he flung himself forward, on top of me. We wrestled naked, rolling from side to side, until I pinned him on his belly, one hand between his shoulder blades, face mashed into a pillow, arms outstretched. My leg restrained his legs from kicking back to protect his butt.
I raised my hand. Instead of slapping, I clasped his right buttock, fingers poking into his crevice.
“Maybe I should fuck you instead... You’d be a little gay bottom before you officially turn ten.”
Excited, ready, willing, and...
“Tell me where my presents are first!”
“You’re hot, Lukey Baby; really hot.”
He glanced around the cabin. “It can’t be in here. I looked everywhere.”
“You want another hint?”
He nodded and I pulled him down, front to front, tempted to french kiss him.
“You just got hotter. Red hot, in fact! You couldn’t be any closer to it… He won when he pushed out his bottom lip. I caved. He was too cute not to give in to his every whim.
“You’re lying… on them.”
The only place he hadn’t looked was under the bed, ‘berth’ in nautical lingo. With two-foot-deep drawers at the end, he hadn’t realized there was still space left.
He scrambled off me and helped hold up the mattress and plywood base-board as I pulled out five Amazon cartons. There was no way to wrap boxes that big. His gaze went from box to box, disbelieving it was all for him.
<GSC>
I saved the biggest box for trash and filled it with squashed boxes and packaging, which he tossed in my direction while parading around in his wetsuit. After manhandling the trash-box to the cockpit, I finished outfitting him, Cressi Pro XS BCD with octopus, regulator, and dive console. I left off the tank and fitted a pony; goggles and snorkel and he was ready to get in the water. It was four feet deep off the swim platform, enough to panic a ten-year-old, so I got in with him, fitted his fins and stayed by his side as he glided around.
Done with his pony, we divested to nothing, skinny dipping and grampa-dolphin rides until near-exhaustion. Rinsed off in the cockpit and went below, ready for breakfast.
“Hey Jeep, ’Looks like you've got yourself a redhot...’” He let it linger, and then added a smirk.
The way he said ‘redhot’ wasn’t a Florida convict from Cool Hand.
“I know where you can put it.”
Now, he sounded like a South Beach fairy; it got my heart ‘a pounding’. Maybe something would happen before breakfast? Wondering what his mom would think when I told her.
I countered. “How about, seeing as it’s your birthday, every time my cock goes up there, you get sucky sucky first?”
After five years of playing with his own little ‘redhot’, Luke’s slow-stroking was enviable, stoking pleasure.
“You want to suck Li’l Luke, go fer it; but that big ole thing ain’t going nowhere near my butt ‘til lunch. Even then, maybe not ‘til dinner.”
My little dialog maestro, down-home dialect near authentic, drove it home with a gay-boy stare at my groin, a simpering smirk like they taught in acting school. I grabbed his arm and dragged him into the bow cabin, tossed him onto the berth, tickled him into hysterics.
“Ten years old; it’s time to say goodbye to your cherry.”
Teasing him as I poked and prodded, not really trying for entry. He wriggled all over, kicking off sheets and pillows, clamping his cheeks to keep me out.
“Screw ma cherry. Fuckin’ tha livin’ daylights outta me, tha’s ya job, Jeep.
“You’re a natural at improv, Lukey. I could pull strings, get you a studio audition.”
He shook his head, adamant, surprising for a single-mom kid with a chance at stardom. Flopped onto me, warm and snuggling, kissing better than any woman; little bare boy trailing his fingertips over my nipples, a slow voyage headed south. Rubbing his dick into my tummy, lifting up to relocate mine. Parallel pricks, the grownup one oozing, the other still sticky from wrestling.
He reached behind and rubbed at his butt. “It’s loose again.?”
“Must have a slow leak.”
“You think?”
“Maybe you’re getting used to it. Nah,
He nuzzled my unshaven chin. “Jeep, what’s it like when you cum?”
“’Convulsions, shivering...’”
He came back fast, top-grade Cool Hand. “’Very unpleasant to watch.’”
“You’re good! ‘Man's never the same. Makes him lose his sex drive.’”
“Like that’s gonna happen.” Congratulatory low-five with a soppy smooch on my cheek. “I want to stay here with you, Jeep. Do GSC until I’m too old!”
Yeah, his mother had delivered the bad news--his grandpa loved boys. He only had a few years left.
“’I ain't crazy about it myself.’ Slingshot the quote back in his court. “Puberty’s a bitch for a loved boy. Don’t know how I’ll survive without you.”
Having turned the perfect age, I wasn’t interested in him getting older.
He took a deep breath, sucked on his bottom lip, absently pulling on my pubic hair. “You wanna go up there now?”
“’Sweet job like that worth at least a buck.’”
“Stop it, Jeep.”
The most important event in his life, I should’ve realized he’d be worried.
“I think it’s time for breakfast. Then, snorkeling, and one last present.”
He caught on as soon as as I finished. “You’re my last present!”
<GSC>
After brunch, we took the dinghy to the reef off Rosy Kerb Rocks. We anchored in eight feet of clear, warm water, white sand bottom with current, ideal for conch. After exploring the reef, Luke snorkeled non-stop, bringing up a conch every other dive, all but three returned to the sea. Pleased with himself, he dolphin-kicked with his flippers, hauling himself up and sliding with seal-like elegance over the dinghy bow.
Today being his birthday, he decided where, steering the dinghy to our favorite beach. It was only accessible by dinghy, picturesque coconut palms, minimal trash brought in by waves, and no people six days out of seven.
While our swim shorts dried on the dinghy seats, we sunbaked nude. He was hot, head to toe oily with Hawaiian Tropic, when I scooped him up and carried him into knee-deep water. He gazed up at me, no naive little boy. It was time for me to ‘go up there’ properly, no more playing around the backdoor; he knew it; I knew it.
I draped him over the inflatable tube, his head on the bow, squeezing more Tropic from the bottle, slathered him until he was slipping and sliding against rubberized resiliency. Flipped him onto his front and squirted Tropic on his back, his butt, along his crack. A deft pull on his inflatable plug left his hole gaping.
I leaned over him, whispered in his ear. “If a boy’s going to lose his virginity, this is the only way to do it.”
He tried to look over his shoulder; he could feel it burrowing in—I was centered already, no condom needed. All it took was a slow deliberate push to penetrate. He gasped and twitched as his muscle stretched wider than normal. The rim of my glans sealed tightly, forcing him to push down, finally accept the boy’s role. Only seconds before he groaned as my manhood slid into him.
“There goes your cherry… No big deal. You’re still the same old Lukey, only a day older.”
Embedded beyond his grasping sphincter, I did the responsible thing and waited until he was used to the sensation, insofar as a boy can get used to a man’s presence ‘up there.’ No matter how many times we’d talked about it, watched videos, penetrated his rectum with the inflatable plug, the real thing was different.
“Feels weird, Jeep,” he murmured after a while. “I like having you in there.”
“A gay boy would want me to go deeper.,”I whispered, already pushing in. “You still need some more, don’t you?”
Luke moved his head, sweat spotting his brow. The first time was stressful, no doubt about it.
“You’re still the same, Lukey; well mostly, just a day older.”
He kept nodding until I finished impaling him. By then, relaxed concentration had replaced stress.
“Only now I really put the gay in Gay Sex Camp, huh Jeep?”
After receiving the email below, I have decided not to publish any more Jeep Vignettes. Thank you to those readers who have sent donations to Nifty. They are appreciated.
Dear Ganymede,
You are really not "dear" because you never did what I asked for in my e-mail of several months ago - to put me in direct touch with Luke's mother. Still, I stick to the form of polite address. So far, it has done me little good with the likes of you.
I have distracted myself to the degree possible with Puerto Rican beach boys (broader range of them than only Cubans, plus they don't steal as much) and mango wine (with pulp), but have suffered some consequences. Slippery hot teen flesh and alcohol go so far in helping me root things, I mean in getting at the root of things. What a I mean is - wait, let me push Jacinto and Ramon off. They getting old (17 and 16, you know) and too demanding. I want to understand how Susan (of Vignettes long ago) coped so graciously with Kelly and his David, who was her friend. I dream of that - maybe because of post-hypnotic suggestion
My former psychotherapist, Dr. Frankel (now in Germany where he belongs), agreed with me back when you didn't help me that you needed a prompt.
Did you forget? This is sort-of what I wrote to you before (which you ignored, being clearly selfish): Luke's Mom, like Susan, astonishes me because of her trust. How does she juggle her feelings for him and for you? Have you - from all your royalties - been paying her off? Whatever, she's got to be concerned because, the way you tell it, she must worry, despite knowing Luke wants to be with you, and at the same time she gets excited! Something's not right there, especially when little Luke's sore from what he and you enjoy. Yes, I know you wrote these ‘vignettes’ a year ago, so he’s way past the sore stage, but still. I want to know about back then, right after you deflowered his tushie, but not from the likes of you. You're suspect. I want to correspond directly with Susan.
Since you're all tied up emotionally with Luke and probably turning down requests from others boys' mothers, you could make up for treating me the way you have by slipping my contact information to one or two, perhaps ‘Tristan’s’ mother. I bet she’s into it; and that psychologist who wrote to you is a latent boy meddler. ‘Tristan’ sounds like a real little firecracker. Do you know if he’s blond?
Finally, where I am, mangoes aren't the only tropical fruit to ferment well as a wine, or liquor as you so pretentiously call it. Ramon's mother just brought over enough huge papayas for us to get quite a batch going.
If you print this, you better do so without my name.