Date: Sun, 23 Jan 2005 18:30:56 EST
From: Badgod69@aol.com
Subject: PUNK UGLY

I met my young buddy Peter on a road trip when he was 16 and I was 24.  He
was one of 7 teenage boys I drove from Berkeley, California to Ashland,
Oregon so they could attend the Shakespeare Festival as part of a high
school summer program.  I was their emergency fill-in chaperone.  My little
brother Tim was one of the other boys and the whole group of us had a great
time together.  I taught them all about hot-dogging and how awesome it is
to jack off with your buddies.

Peter was a punk rock kid.  He was tall and skinny with about 145 lbs on
his 6'2" frame.  Most people thought Peter was over 18 because of his
height but once you got to talking with him it became clear that he was
just a boy.

Peter wasn't a cute kid; in fact, he was kind of ugly.  But I thought he
was fucking hot as hell, probably because I went through a punk phase
myself when I was younger and I'd always liked the whole punk scene and
most of the people in it.

His eyes were small and brown, almost piggish looking, and he had fairly
heavy, dark eyebrows.  Adolescence was not being kind to Peter - his
slightly scruffy face was dotted with angry red zits and his hair always
looked greasy, even though he had shaved most of it off into a mohawk.  His
mouth was large and broke into a wide, mischievous grin at the drop of a
hat, but when he wasn't smiling he looked mean and sullen.

Everything on Peter was long: face, arms, legs, neck, and dick.  I had seen
Peter naked a good half-dozen times by the end of our road trip that
summer.  The size of his prick had surprised me because it was almost as
big as mine, though not yet quite as thick.  His legs and forearms were
pretty hairy, and his pits were filled with a thick mat of dark hair,
always fragrant with sweat, fresh and stale, both.

Peter was one of the stinkiest boys I had ever met.  He never used
deodorant and daily bathing was not high on his list of priorities.  Some
of this was punk rock attitude and posing, but I knew at heart Peter got
off on his B.O.  I knew because he told me one night when we were drunk

Anyway, Peter had joined a band and they were scheduled to play their first
gig in less than a month after our trip.  He had invited me to come hear
him play and I was looking forward to it.

I knew Peter had an unspoken crush on me; he'd followed me around like a
dog the whole time we had been together in Ashland.  It started out with
him being impressed by me, mostly because of my 'fuck it all, do what you
like' attitude, coupled with my willingness to let the kids get stoned and
drunk.  But that soon grew into what I recognized as a crush, an emotional
and physical attraction that wanted more sex after the jack off games I had
taught the boys.

I liked the kid a lot.  We shared a common outlook on most things and we
listened to a lot of the same music.  I got a strong sense that he wouldn't
mind doing sex stuff together, although he had never said a word about it.
I could just tell from the way he talked to me.  That, and the fact that he
had let me eat his ass out while he was hot-dogging another kid in our
motel room when we were all drunk and high.  But you never can tell with
boys, especially drunk and stoned boys.  What was fun and awesome one time
might not be so again.

He called my parents' house where I was staying for the summer during my
break from school and work to remind me of the gig the next night.  I told
him I was bringing Timmy and he said that was good and we hung up.

The next night Tim and I headed out to Berkeley and parked a short distance
away from the club, an all-ages punk rock venue called 924 Gilman which is
also the street address of the place.  Most nights there's plenty of
parking nearby.  The majority of the people who go there are underage; most
of the kids get rides or something I guess, cuz it's usually pretty easy to
park even when the club is jammed.  But there was a line down the street
when we drove past and I knew it was going to be fucking crowded as hell.

When we finally got to the door that old unchanging stench coming from
inside the overheated club slapped me in the face.  We paid our whopping 5
bucks, got our hands stamped, and slowly made our way into the main room.
The place was jammed with kids, most of them drunk or stoned or tweaking on
some drug or other.  All of them were noisy as hell, screaming and laughing
and talking loud and fast like all groups of teens do when they know
they're on their own turf.

Tim recognized tons of kids from school.  It was good to see so many people
come out to hear these bands; this night was a show of all new bands so the
place was filled with friends of the performers.

Timmy grabbed my shoulder and yelled into my ear that he was going to go
say hi to some people he knew.  I nodded and he took off, swallowed almost
instantly by the crowd.  I figured I wouldn't see Tim again 'til the show
was over.

Peter's band - 'My Boy Timmy' (referring not to my little brother but to
the Oklahoma City bomber Timothy McVeigh whom Peter and the other band
members admired) - were scheduled to play second in a line-up of six.

The opening band was almost through setting up and testing their
instruments and setting sound levels as I wandered into "the Store", a side
room with a few battered couches and a counter staffed by some young punk
kid selling sodas and candies.  He couldn't have been more than 14.

What I really wanted was a beer, but no alcohol was allowed here.  It
always cracked me up to see the kids hiding in the bushes all around the
area drinking and smoking out, but for the most part they respected the
rule about not having or at least consuming anything illegal inside the
actual club.

I bought a Coke and lit a cigarette, adding my smoke to the already thick
haze in the air, and slowly made my way through the squirming kids back
into the space.  The stage was tucked into one corner of the room and the
rest of it was lined with several thoroughly trashed sofas and armchairs,
along with 1 or 2 back seats from old cars.  Past experience taught me the
risk you took by sitting down.  It was more likely than not that you'd find
yourself sitting in or touching something wet, sticky, slippery, or
foul-smelling.  I chose to lean against a wall near the stage.

The few stage lights and one overhead spot in the center of the room lit
the faces of all those kids with a light that made them look like denizens
of a low-budget nightclub or a no-budget Hell set from some cheesy movie.
The walls were painted black but were covered with graffiti and random
objects, as well as layers of posters for past and upcoming shows.

There was a side door leading to the outside near where I leaned and it
opened momentarily, a number of band members riding in on the cool, fresh
air.  I sucked the clean air in, giving my lungs a break from the foul
smell of the club.  Gilman smells like years of stale tobacco smoke, hordes
of sweaty teenagers, sour spilled sodas and vomit, and the unmistakable
reek of old piss. The bathrooms are even more rank, so bad that even I have
found them too nasty to use in the past.

I eyed the kids coming through the door and I spotted Peter.  I called out
his name in the voice I use to communicate with kids at a distance on the
wilderness trips I lead as my work.  Peter heard me with no problem and
looked around quickly, trying to locate where my voice had come from.  I
was close enough to be able to stick my arm up and wave and it got his
attention.  As soon as he saw me he beamed and started pushing forward into
the crowd to get to me.

I gave him a big old hug and he wrapped his wiry bare arms around me and
hugged back hard.  I could smell alcohol on his breath, beer with an
undertone of something harder, whiskey I guessed.

"Thanks for coming, Cal," he roared directly into my face.  I could tell he
had a good buzz going but he wasn't shit-faced or anything like that.

"Dude, I wouldn't miss your fuckin' premiere!"

We laughed for a moment.

"You wanna smoke out after your set?" I yelled at him.

He furrowed his brows and smirked at me, as if saying "Well, what do you
think?" and gave me a thumbs up.

He shouted that he had to go get ready and hugged me again and disappeared
into the crowd.

The opening band, 'Late-Term Abortion', launched into their set and I have
to say they weren't that bad for a new band.  The lead singer, a girl about
15 years-old, didn't have much presence and no one could make out a word
she shrieked and screamed but the beat was good and fast and the melodies
were super-harsh.  The band only had about 6 songs ready, so they were done
within 20 minutes.  The crowd of kids applauded and cheered them and then
the announcer said there'd be a short break and then 'My Boy Timmy' would
be up.  Pockets of kids around the room erupted in cheers and yells.

Technically, you weren't supposed to smoke in the club.  I had never seen
anyone be asked to put their cigarette out, but I wanted some more fresh
air anyway and shuffled out to the front entrance to have a smoke.
Swarming knots of kids were outside the building, more kids than could get
inside.  Everyone seemed to be buzzed and having a good time.  I looked
around briefly for my brother but I didn't see him.

I did see a couple of guys I knew from a past job and my first year at
local college.  We shot the shit while we smoked and then headed back
inside when we heard the band start playing.

I shouldered myself about midway into the sea of mostly kids and watched
'My Boy Timmy' scorch through their first song.  Peter was the singer and
he was backed up by 3 other kids, 2 of them skinny and dirty-looking with a
heavier, tattooed kid on drums.

Peter was fucking amazing.  He was dressed in his usual garb but under the
lights he looked like a killer.  An old, faded black t-shirt with the
sleeves ripped off hung on his torso.  It said in ragged white letters
"Kill Everyone Now" but the lettering was cracked and peeling from age and
wear.  The cut-off black pants he wore were once suit pants and their
frayed edges dangled strings over Peter's hairy legs, almost touching the
tops of his black steel-toed boots.  He looked awesome, already sweating
like a pig and pacing like a caged tiger back and forth across the tiny
stage.

When he launched into the next verse it was like a rocket had hit the
building.  He exploded with energy and slammed into equipment and band
mates as he careened around the stage, screaming and groaning the lyrics.
The cool thing was that you could make out most of what he sang.

The crowd was loving it and roared their approval after the first song
ended.  Peter flung his head back and a stream of sweat flew up and behind
him, flashing in the spotlights.  He peeled his t-shirt off and tossed it
to the side of the stage.  His pale, bare skin glistened with streaming
sweat, even dripping under the waistband of his baggy pants, front and
back.  It was obvious that he wasn't wearing underwear, which I thought was
pretty cool.

Peter mumbled something to the lead guitarist and as they spoke Peter
unconsciously raised his arm a bit and sniffed his pit really fast and then
scratched it.  It all happened very quickly but the image seared into my
over-stimulated brain and I got an instant boner.  I glanced around the
room and I noticed many of the boys doing the same thing every once in a
while, giving their pits a quick check.  Whether it was because they were
worried they stank too bad or got some perverse charge out of it I didn't
know.  All I knew was that the sight of it made my blood pressure soar.

The next song ripped through the crowd and a spontaneous mosh pit formed at
the front of the stage.  Kids started whirling and slamming in a fast,
tight circle that expanded and contracted as people joined and left the
human whirlpool.  Most of them were boys, shirtless and shiny with sweat,
all angular elbows and shoulders and ribs.  I noticed that some adults were
in the pit along with the kids, bashing and slamming and helping up their
fallen comrades so they wouldn't get trampled.

Without even thinking, I rushed forward as I ripped off my t-shirt and
stuffed it into the waistband of my jeans and flung myself into the pit.  I
got smashed into by a group of kids as soon as I entered the circle, but I
shoved back hard and got them away from me as I stomped and whirled faster
and harder until I got knocked off balance and went hurtling back into the
crowd.  Hands reached out to brake and stop my forward fall before pushing
me back into the pit.

I felt exhilarated, furious and amped and crazy for more aggression.  The
song ended abruptly and Peter announced that the band hadn't come up with a
good finish to the number yet and I laughed out loud.

As those of us in the pit recovered by gasping for breath Peter announced
that the next song was brand new and was dedicated to a "a good buddy of
mine."  The song, he said, was titled "Hot Dog."  I heard a few titters
from somewhere in the room and I smiled and wondered what the hell was
going on.

The pit started grinding as the song started, a super-fast, three-chord
tune with lyrics that scattered out so fast it was nearly impossible to
make out everything Peter was shrieking.  I asked Peter about the words
later and he rattled them off to me and told me he'd give me a tape of the
song.

Here's a sample of the lyrics:

...I don't know if it's gay or not, Just keep feeding me beer and pot, I
know you're a dude but I think you're hot, Hot dog, hot dog, hot dog.

I'll do bottom if you'll do top, Just keep going, never stop, Here it
comes, I'm gonna pop, Hot dog, hot dog, hot dog...

As he barked out the words in a rapid-fire volley, Peter was writhing and
spasming all around the other kids in the band.  At one point he even bent
over while the lead guitarist moved into position behind him and dry-humped
his rear end a few times while Peter shrieked out "Hot dog, hot dog, hot
dog!"

Between the short verses the band blasted out an even faster and more
aggressive bridge while Peter grabbed his crotch and rubbed his dick
through his pants.  The audience was laughing and whooping it up.

As the music crashed to a furious end, Peter barked into the microphone,
"Fuck me up the ass!" as he grabbed his crotch one last time, showing off
an obvious rock hard boner pressed tight against his leg under the fabric.

The crowd fell apart and howled like wolves.  They loved it, and I had to
admit the song was fucking catchy as hell.  Peter looked amazing, deranged
and horny and drenched in potent sweat.  It was one of those classic Gilman
moments -- an ugly, young punk screaming nasty stuff while doing something
sexual and publicly 'forbidden.'  I glanced around and most of the people
near me were wild-eyed.  I wondered how many other guys had popped a boner
during the song.

I felt sort of flattered.  Here was this ugly-sexy kid up on stage, singing
a song he had taught his buddies how to play, all inspired by the 2 nights
of fun and games I had taught him and his friends on that road trip.  Now
it was a punk rock song called "Hot Dog" and he had dedicated it to me.
Wild!

Each song seemed to be faster and more frantic than the last.  The crowd
was at fever-pitch by now and when the band finished their set after a few
more songs the place went wild.  Wave after wave of cheering and applause
crashed over the edge of the stage and swept up the kids in the band in its
wake.  They looked stunned and Peter blushed a deep scarlet.  Then they all
broke into laughter and smiles of victory.

As they came off the stage onto the main floor I was reminded of how blas^
the kids were to the performers after their set.  I had seen this happen
time and time again at punk clubs.  While the bands were playing the kids
acted like any group of young people would who enjoyed the show - clapping,
cheering, smiling, etc.  But as soon as the tunes were over, the crowd went
back to talking and basically ignored the performers as they descended the
platform.  I guess it was all part of the punk attitude.

Peter and his mates didn't seem concerned at all, just hi-fived each other
on a good first show.  I made my way over to them as they cleared their
equipment from the stage after downing bottles of water and offered to lend
a hand if they needed it.  Peter beamed at me and told me they were almost
finished and asked me what I had thought.  I told him I thought they were
amazing, especially him.  He hugged me tight to his stinky body and I felt
how soaked he was; even his pants were dark with sweat.  Then he surprised
me by kissing me casually, full on the mouth.  It was a short kiss, but
still it surprised me.  I knew he was pretty drunk.

The other kids from the band just laughed and went about their work.  I
told Peter I was going outside to smoke a cigarette and he nodded and said
he'd meet me at the side of the building where they were going to load up
their instruments and equipment.

When I got outside I happened to spot Tim and a few other kids talking and
went up to them.  Tim looked at me and smiled and introduced me to his
friends.  Nice kids.  As we were talking Davie and Kevin from the road trip
came bounding up to the group, laughing and shoving the others.

"What about that 'Hot Dog' song?" Davie brayed to the crowd, laughing and
looking a bit uncomfortable.

Tim and Kevin laughed with him and the other kids just stared, unaware why
the song was so meaningful to us.

"Yeah, that song rocked!" I said.  The boys all nodded, giggling and
bouncing around; but they didn't say anything else about the song.

I told Tim that I was going to meet Peter and the band at the side door and
he smiled and said he'd find a ride home.

Tim knew that I might well end up fucking around with Peter and I was glad
to see that there was not the slightest trace of jealousy or weirdness in
his demeanor.  Ever since we got home from that road trip, Timmy and I had
been having sex regularly and we both admitted that we were in love with
each other.  Not a mushy, romantic love, but a brotherly, private love that
included honor, a heroic spirit, and lots of body contact.  I had a
girlfriend whom I loved absolutely and wanted to marry, but the
relationship I had with Tim was something separate and inviolate.

Tim also knew I fucked around occasionally with guys I felt attracted to in
one way or another; but he also knew how devoted and loyal I was to him on
an emotional level apart from the physical aspect of our relationship.  Tim
seemed fine with my attitude about sex, which was that it was OK to have
casual sex with girls or guys so long as you genuinely liked them as
people.  To me sex was just another activity, another way to have fun
together.  It didn't have to mean anything more than that, and I never let
it.  Except with Tim.  And my girlfriend.  To make matters even more
complex, Tim identified as straight and was always on the lookout for hot
girls.  He had spoken to me many times about how much he wanted to get
married and raise a family and I knew he meant it.  It never crossed my
mind to think that Timmy might be queer, because I knew he truly wasn't.

Anyway, when he told me he'd find a ride home I knew he was OK with the
idea of me and Peter hooking up.  He and Peter were casual friends already,
and Tim had told me he pretty much knew I'd like him before Peter and I had
even met.  So when it became obvious to him that there was a sexual tension
between Peter and I he told me he thought it was cool.

He walked with me the short distance to the side of the building and when
we saw Peter and the guys he smiled and said, "Well, this is where you get
off," and then we both laughed.

"Hope so," I replied.

The next band had already started playing so most of the crowd had gone
back inside.  Oddly, no one was near us at that moment, so I pushed Tim
into the shadows, up against the building, and made out with my amazing 15
year-old brother for a few seconds before I left him to join Peter.

"See you later, bro," I said as Timmy walked back to rejoin his friends.
He leered at me and raised his brows, then turned and walked away.

The boys were just finishing loading up an old, battered van that belonged
to the drummer, a 17 year-old kid named Drey.  Peter introduced me to the
other band members, the lead guitarist named 'Cuda and Max, the bassist.
'Cuda was a short, wiry 15 year-old kid, maybe 5'4", 105 lbs.  He was
scrawny and had bleached blond hair obviously cut by an amateur.  Max was
16, about 5'10", maybe 130 lbs., shaved head with multiple ear piercings.
All these kids were skinny, except for Drey who was overweight but solidly
built.  Peter seemed to be the top dog in their little group.

"So, what's up, dude?" Peter said to me as I walked over to them.

"Wanna smoke out?" I said to the group but really meaning only him.

The 3 boys looked to Peter momentarily to see his reaction and when Peter
readily agreed they all laughed and said "hell yeah!"

Since I had the truck and they had the van, they decided to drive to where
I was parked down the street and then they'd park and we'd all get in the
van and get stoned.

As I walked to my truck I wondered how or if I was going to get Peter alone
for a while.  I had some vodka under my seat and I knew a few more shots
would loosen him up even more and make him hornier.

I was still mulling this over when I climbed into the back of the van with
the kids and filled my pipe.  Drey had a pipe, too, so we were able to keep
both pipes passing for several bowls.  We were all getting nicely baked
pretty fast.

They jabbered about the show and I went on about how fucking good they
were.  The boys were eating it up and it was great to feel that I was being
genuine in my praise for them.

We smoked another round and it got quiet.  Then Max turned to me and said,
"Dude, Peter told us about some of the shit you taught him."

I laughed and said, "Yeah, I figured.  'Hot Dog.'"

They all busted up and Max said, "Yeah, well, Drey already knew what it was
but we didn't and after he told us we all wanted to try it.  Dude, that
shit's the bomb!"  He laughed like he was sort of embarrassed until the
others agreed, nodding and snickering.

"Just guys having fun and helping each other out, man.  Nothing more
natural than that," I said when it settled down.  I was surprised that
these boys didn't already know the term if not the activity.

Peter asked me if he could catch a ride back with me cuz the other guys
were going to a party and he hated the guy throwing it.  I told him sure,
no problem, and we got out of the van and said good-bye to the boys as they
drove off.

When we got inside my truck I asked him where he lived.  He laughed and
told me he didn't really want to go home yet and asked if I knew someplace
we could go hang out for a while, just to talk and shit.  I knew I couldn't
take him back to my folk's house so I asked him if we could go to his.

He said we could if we had to.  Then his face lit up a bit and he said it'd
take some sneaking around a bit but if I was willing to wait until he gave
the signal we could go to his place.  I asked him what that all entailed.
I sure as hell wasn't about to hang out in my truck for hours until his
parent's went to sleep or some stupid shit like that.

He told me he lived in a small in-law cottage behind his parent's house and
that all he'd have to do would be to go inside for a few minutes to let his
folks know he was home and then say he was going to bed.  Then, he said,
he'd let me in by the side gate and if we were quiet no one would know I
was there and it'd all be cool.

I wasn't so sure about this plan, it sounded too easy and like he was
forgetting something that would inevitably make it more difficult.  But I
said yeah, sure, and then suggested we drive up into the Berkeley hills for
a bit first and smoke out some more.  Peter thought that sounded good, so I
headed the truck up into the hills.

It took almost a half-hour to get to a turn-out I knew about high above the
city.  The spot was usually deserted and the patrol cops rarely went by.
It was a pleasant evening, warm enough to be comfortable in a t-shirt with
the windows rolled down.

When I turned the headlights off it was pitch black except for the lights
of Berkeley twinkling far below our aerie perch.  It took about 10 minutes
for our eyes to adjust, but by then we could see each other's faces well
enough to register expressions.

I asked him if he wanted a chug of vodka and he laughed loud and said sure.
I pulled it out from beneath my seat and handed him the bottle.  He opened
it and tipped it back and took 3 long pulls before handing it over to me.
I didn't drink much because I didn't want any problems with cops.

We listened to some CDs and talked about the show a little more and Peter
asked me if I had noticed a bunch of different girls by their first names,
like I would know who he was talking about.  He was pretty wasted and his
speech was starting to slur.  I kept telling him I didn't know who he was
talking about but he kept telling me how hot each of them was.  I could
tell Peter was trying to bring the conversation around to sex, so I let
him.

Finally, when I realized Peter had taken it as far as he could and I'd now
have to take the next step, I asked him if he ever fucked around with other
dudes before.  He said he hadn't until our road trip but he had been
curious about it for some time.  He paused and then said he wanted to try
it some more, though.

I didn't say anything at first, just snickered and stared at the view.

"So, what do you want to do?" I asked him point blank, leaving the question
ambiguous on purpose.

"You mean, now?"

"I mean, what do you want to do?  Suck?  Fuck?  What?"  I was looking right
at him.

I took him by surprise and his eyes got big for a moment.

"Whatever," was all he said as he grinned crookedly at me, his eyes having
a bit of trouble focusing.

I filled and lit my pipe and passed it to him.  As he sucked in the weed
smoke I leaned over into him and said, "Blow the smoke into my mouth, bro."

He smiled at me and leaned towards my face, puckering his lips to blow a
thin stream of smoke into my lungs.  As I inhaled the second-hand smoke I
kept my face close to his.  I blew the smoke out past his head and then
inhaled sharply a few times.

"Damn, dude, you got one helluva powerful sweat stink goin'!"  I laughed
and so did he.

"Yeah, like a skunk!"

I kept my face near his for a little longer than necessary, just to see
what he'd do.  At first he just stared at me and smiled, then he got a
little spooked and gazed out at the view while I chuckled softly and let my
face hover near his shoulder for a few moments.  I sat up in my seat and
sighed like I was tired.

"So..."  Peter was at a loss for words.  I thought it was hilarious and
kind of sexy for some reason, I guess because he was awkward and a little
bit flustered, despite his punk-rock, worldly attitude.  Peter was just a
kid, after all.  I didn't help him out by saying anything, just sat there
sort of smiling at him.

He cleared his throat and mumbled, "I gotta take a piss," and then got out
of the truck.  He walked to the edge of the look-out and stood right in
front of my truck, his back to me.  I could tell from his movements that he
had unzipped his pants and hauled out his dick.  A few seconds later I
turned my headlights on, illuminating him like he was back on stage.

Peter glanced back over his shoulder at the truck, laughing silently, his
pimply face looking blurred and smudged from all the weed and booze in his
system.  I could see his piss stream glittering in the headlights as it
went soaring up and out over the edge of the cliff.

When he was through he turned around and shook his floppy dick off,
droplets of pee flinging out in all directions.  I could see that he was
still giggling.  Instead of cramming his cock back inside his pants and
zipping up, he unbuttoned them and let them ride down lower on his bony
hips.

Like a male Lolita, he teasingly turned his back to me again and just stood
there for a second.  The back of his pants was low enough to expose the top
inch of his ass crack and it looked sexy in the merciless glare of the
lights.  Slowly, he pushed his pants down until his whole ass was showing
like a full, white moon against the blackness of the sky.

I had a raging boner by now and I was rubbing the mound of hard dick
through my jeans.  Wet, sticky precum was flowing down my inner thigh,
making me even harder.

He started wagging his ass back and forth a bit, then rotated his hips
slowly.  It was like watching a scene from a dream.  The headlights picked
up every contour and dimple in his ass as he moved it in slow circles, all
the muscles moving and contracting, the hairy crack opening and closing as
he gyrated.  Even the constellation of zits on his ass looked hot.

I figured I better get him back inside the truck before he fell over the
edge of the cliff or someone drove by and wondered why a half-naked kid was
showing off in my headlights.

Just as I was getting out I heard him fart and let out a sigh as he said,
"Oh-oh..." and started to sit down on the dirt.

"What's up, dude?" I laughed as I moved to help him up.

"I gotta take a dump, dude," he said, cackling like a banshee.  He wasn't
sitting down after all, he was squatting so he could shit.  I couldn't
believe how bizarre this was getting.  I didn't really want to see this,
and I wondered how he was going to get cleaned up when he was through.

I snickered and stood there for a second watching him, more out of wanting
to make sure he wasn't going to tumble over backwards and go rolling down
the steep hillside than from any erotic thrill I was getting.  My
headlights were still on him, and I went back to the truck to turn them
off.  As soon as I moved Peter brayed out for me to leave them on so he
could see what he was doing.  I laughed again and just stood leaning
against the truck, watching this nasty show he was putting on.

He was facing the headlights and I could tell from the straining expression
on his face when he was forcing a turd past his sphincter.  I could tell
when each one fell free cuz his red face would look relieved before he
started straining again.

Between strains, he would twiddle his dick a bit, almost like he got a
sexual charge out of taking a shit.  His cock hung heavily between his
hairy thighs, nutsack full and swollen-looking.

"You're a nasty little prick, you know that?" I barked at him, which made
us both cackle.

"The call of nature, dude!  Punk rock!" he yelled back.

He bounced up and down on the balls of his boot-clad feet a bit and then
strained hard again.  I heard a long, juicy fart rip out of him and then he
sighed as a huge, fat turd slid out of his hairy hole.  I could see it
clearly, cuz Peter had shimmied himself around so his ass was now featured
in the light.

"OK, all done, I think," he said as he looked around for something to wipe
his dirty asshole with.

"What are you gonna wipe with, bro?" I asked him.

He was silent as he searched around him for leaves or something to use.
All of a sudden he raised his arms over his head, whipped his sleeveless
t-shirt off, and brought it under himself as he wiped his ass on it.

I was laughing my head off and asked him what he was going to wear for a
shirt now.  He just laughed and kept wiping, then stood up and started
pulling his pants back up over his thighs.

"Am I clean, dude?" he asked me, giggling and pushing his ass out for me to
see.

There were still a few tiny pieces of crap caught in the hairs around his
asshole and I told him he wasn't clean yet.  He sucked his teeth and sighed
and told me to help him out.  I told him all I could do was piss on his ass
but I'd be happy to do it if he wanted me to.  I was just joking but he
smiled at me and said, "OK."

I couldn't believe it.  He stumbled over to the bed of the truck and
climbed into it.  Then he lay down on his back and pulled his knees into
his chest, exposing his asshole to the sky.  His pants were bunched up
around his ankles which were above his head.  He had found the right
position for me to piss on his ass crack without soaking his pants in the
process.

Laughing nastily, I climbed into the truck bed and stood above him.  I
hauled out my stiff dick and told him I had a boner and it might take a
while before I could get soft enough to piss.  He giggled and then yawned,
ending with a mighty belch.

After a short pause I let loose with a powerful stream of piss and aimed it
at his dirty hole.  The shit dislodged and washed away onto the truck bed.
I had a full bladder and as I emptied it Peter murmured and said it felt
good and warm, still giggling like a dirty-minded little boy.

When I was through he clambered his way out of the truck and walked back
into the glare of the headlights.

"Better?  Clean?" he asked me.

"Yeah, I guess, but now you're covered in my piss, dude!"

He bent over to pick up his skid-marked t-shirt, turned in inside out and
looked for a clean spot to wipe himself with again.

"Hey, wait," I called out, remembering something.  I grabbed the bottle of
vodka from inside the truck and walked over to him.

"Let's pour some of this on you to get you all the way clean.  Maybe it'll
fucking disinfect you, too."

Peter nodded and chuckled as I poured vodka down into his crack.  He
squealed and said it felt cold and I laughed and punched his shoulder
playfully.  As the vodka washed over his asshole he wiped at it with his
t-shirt again.

He let the shirt drop and spread his ass cheeks wide open for me to
inspect.  He looked squeaky-clean now and I told him he was fine.  I
snickered and asked him what he was going to do with his t-shirt.  He
picked it up and hurled it over the edge of the cliff, then pulled up his
pants and zipped up.  His cock was half-hard and bloated looking as he
shoved it inside his pants.

I got a weird thrill thinking about somebody finding that nasty shirt,
wondering where the hell it came from.

"Let me wear your tee, dude, when we get to my house; then you can have it
back once I get to my place."

I peeled my sweaty t-shirt off and tossed it to him.  He pulled it on and
then sniffed under the sleeves.

"You stink, yourself, dude!"  I nodded and laughed with him.  He started
murmuring in a sing-song way, "Suck and fuck, suck and fuck, suck and
fuck..." over and over.

We got back inside the truck and I started the engine, kicking it into gear
and peeling out to head back into Berkeley.

"Suck and fuck, dude!" he barked one last time.

"What're you talking about, bro?" I asked.

He didn't say anything for a minute, then he said, "Want to?"

I just glanced over at him and grinned and he laughed when he saw me
smiling at him.

"Let's go to my house now, dude," he said.  As he told me how to get there
I slipped a CD into the player and blasted out some good, old-school punk
as we headed into north Berkeley.

We sang along with some of the songs and it didn't take long to get to his
house.  Peter lived in an older home, probably from the 1920s or '30s.  It
wasn't the house of a rich kid, that was obvious, and for some reason it
only made me like him all the more.  Peter wasn't some rich boy posing as a
punk, he really was an upper lower-class kid.

He told me to keep an eye on the side gate and he'd motion me in when it
was all-clear.  As he got out of the truck I checked him out and told him
he looked OK and to hurry it up.  I was getting a little bit chilly from
being shirtless.  It was a pleasant evening, but not hot.

He gave me the thumbs up and sprinted up the front steps and through the
front door.  Lights were on in most of the windows, and I wondered how
large his family was.

He was as good as his word about it not taking long.  I saw his long, thin
arm waving back and forth over the gate less than 10 minutes after he got
out of the truck.

I grabbed what was left of the vodka, got out and locked my truck up.  We
were silent as we headed through the unkempt backyard to the tiny in-law
house he lived in.  It really wasn't a house so much as a shed.  When we
got inside I wasn't at all surprised to see that there was no kitchen area,
just a small room crammed with his unmade bed and a dresser and mounds of
clothes, with a tiny bathroom that contained a toilet and a small sink.

It was hot and humid because of two space heaters he left going day and
night.  He said it got cold as hell otherwise and it took forever to heat
up.  It smelled like dirty laundry and sweaty bodies, that time-honored
scent of teenage boys' bedrooms.

The walls were covered with posters, most of them of various punk bands and
half-naked girly pin-ups, sprinkled with a few anarchist political posters.

I asked him about his politics.  Like most teenagers, his views weren't
very well-formed and he professed a strong disdain for all politics.  Then
he surprised me again by laughing and saying actually he was pretty racist
in a lot of his views.

Now, living in Berkeley, you don't often run into people -- especially kids
-- who openly say they're racist.  I felt my dick give a hefty lurch in my
pants which puzzled me for a moment.  But then I realized that this was
just another form of transgressive, forbidden sex, admitting to taboo
ideas.  So, of course it turned me on.  I asked him what he meant.

"Did you go to Berkeley High School when you were young?" he asked me a
little belligerently.

"Yeah."

"Well, maybe it was different back then, but now it's all self-segregated,
dude.  The fuckin' niggers stay together, the Mexicans, the Chinks, every
fucking racial group stays together.  And the white morons try to figure
out which race is the coolest and then try to act like them.  It fuckin'
sucks."

I knew what he meant.  'Back then', when I was in high school, Berkeley
High was much like what he was telling me now.  It really hadn't been all
that long ago, even though to Peter I must have seemed ancient at 24
years-old.  I was 8 years older than him.  That's a helluv long time to a
16 year-old.

"So start telling your friends that it's OK to be white!" I told him.

"Nah, they're all lame, they can fucking do what they want, I don't give a
shit."

That was the extent of Peter's political convictions.  I had to laugh.

He stripped off my t-shirt and threw it to me, then blew out his breath and
stretched his arms upwards, one of those long, deep stretches that feels so
satisfying and relaxing.  When he was through he dropped his arms and
rubbed his chest absently with one hand and scratched a pit briefly with
the other before he lowered it to his crotch and adjusted his dick.

I was fascinated by how great those fucked-up pants showed up his cock.  I
guess because the fabric was sort of thin and sleek, it showed up lots of
detail, especially the ridge of his dick head.  They looked great on him,
slung low on his narrow, bony hips, a thin glory trail plunging down
beneath the waistband.

I still had on everything I walked in wearing - jeans, steel-toes and my
socks.  Peter was down to basically the same.  I asked him if he wanted to
smoke any more weed as I unlaced my boots and pulled them off.  Peter took
the cue and got out of his, saying he was down for smoking out some more.
He also asked me where the vodka was, so I tossed it to him.

While we drank some and smoked lots I told him how damned sexy his show had
been tonight and how I had sprung major wood during that fucking 'Hot Dog'
song.  We busted up about that, actually rolling in laughter we were trying
hard to stifle.  The combination of vodka and weed was doing its job.

"Didn't you see how fuckin' hard my dick was when the song was done?" he
laughed.

"Hell yeah, bro, that was hilarious.  That was hot."

I leaned back against his bed and stretched out.  Peter was propped up on
his messy bed and it got quiet all of a sudden.

"Why don't you put on some music, dude?" I told him.

Peter got off the bed and crossed the short distance to where his stereo
was.  As he skimmed through some CDs I stared at his back.  Broad, skinny
shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, pimples dotting his upper back and
shoulders; hairy calves under those ragged pants, dirty white socks stuck
to the bottoms of his feet.  I didn't want to go too fast and spook him
unexpectedly.

"Damn, it's fucking humid in here, bro!  If I had on underwear I'd take off
my jeans."

Without even turning around or missing a beat he said, "Take 'em off if you
want, then," almost a mumble.

I made sure he could hear my zipper come down as he put on a CD, his back
still to me.

"Take yours off, too, so I don't feel stupid, bro," I said softly.

As he pushed the play button I could see him fiddle with his pants and then
down they dropped around his ankles.  He stepped out of them, naked except
for his socks.  Now I got the whole picture.

His ass looked nice and round, high and tight for being such a thin boy.
He turned around and glanced at me openly.  I was leaning back, one leg
bent up so I could get some air on my balls.

He was half-hard and he just stood there, looking down at his thickening
dick, mouth half-open, body arched back a bit so his tummy looked like a
little boy's.  I stood up and faced him, right in front of me.  I put my
hands over his ropey biceps and held him at arms' length as I looked him up
and down in one long glance.  When my gaze reached his face again he was
smiling at me, eyes half-closed and swaying back and forth just a tiny bit.

I drew him into me, close enough so that our foreheads touched when we
looked down at each other's hardening cocks.  We were both getting ramrod
hard fast.  I reached out and cupped his balls, bouncing them gently in my
palm.  Peter's arms were dangling at his sides, his knees slightly bent,
his eyes closed with a stupid grin spreading over his face.  So far, he
hadn't touched me.

I put my hand behind his skinny neck, touching the back of the studded
leather dog collar he always wore and pulled his face into mine.  I licked
all around his mouth and chin, finally covering his mouth with mine and
snaking my tongue past his thin, wet lips.  I could taste booze and smoke
on his sour breath, along with traces of whatever he'd had for dinner.
Something with onions and garlic, I guessed.

Peter wrapped his arms around my naked shoulders and pushed me back onto
his bed.  I fell back with him on top of me, our hard cocks pressed tight
together.  As we settled he laughed a snarky chuckle while he looked me in
the face.  I was running my hands over his taut ass, groping and squeezing
his cheeks.

"What do you want to do?" he panted into my face.

"I want to shove my fucking cock down your throat, you pimply-faced little
punk-ass bitch."  I smacked his ass hard with the flat of my hand.

His grin evaporated and he started to get a surprised, angry look on his
face.  I stopped him cold, though, by deep kissing him again as I wrapped
my hairy legs around his.  The feel of our socks, warm and damp as they
slid over each other's legs got him amped up in seconds.  All I could smell
was the powerful reek of sweat, his and mine combining into a new and
unforgettably rank odor.  The smell of men, the smell of aggression and
power.

We were all over each other, writhing and cavorting around all over his
smelly bed.  I could feel his wet, sticky pits slide over my shoulders and
it made me crazy.  I forced his arms up and rubbed his matted pit hair all
over my face and head, Peter hissing in his breath when my bristly buzz cut
chafed hard against the tender skin of his underarms.  I wanted his scent
to envelop me like a thick, dank fog that I couldn't possibly find my way
out of.  Peter was going nuts.

Growling deep in his throat like a dog, he buried his face in my already
upraised arms, licking and swirling his tongue deep in the skunky forest of
my pits.

I grabbed his mohawk and yanked back hard, so hard that he yelped and
looked at me with a tinge of fear on his messed-up face.

"You're a fucking pig, aren't you, bro?"  My voice was shaky from all the
raging hormones shooting through my over-sexed mind and body and I could
hear a sneering, mean edge in my tone.  I didn't really mean it to come out
that way, it just did.

"Yeah, dude, yeah, yeah I am..."  Peter was half-smiling, half-leering at
me as I still clutched his hair in my fist.

I rolled him off me so I was on top, still pulling him around by his hair.
It must have hurt some, cuz he kept squinching up his eyes and gritting his
teeth whenever I gave a good tug.

"Now what do you want to do, bitch?" I laughingly spat at him.  The
roughness was turning me on big time.

"I wanna feel my cock crammed down your fucking throat, that's what I want,
motherfucker," he rumbled at me.  Peter had one of those deep, deep man-boy
voices that always seem so incongruous on skinny, young boys.

"We'll see, dude.  It all depends on how you do with sucking me off first."
I laughed evilly as I forced his head down to my groin as I sat up and
leaned against the pillows.

Peter was still helpless to resist.  My grasp on his 'hawk was relentless
and I kept trying to bunch it up even tighter in my fist so it'd hurt more.
I could tell he was enjoying it by how hard his dick was throbbing and
pulsing against my skin.

When I got him where I wanted him I let go of his hair and I could feel his
whole body relax.  His face was mere inches away from my dripping prick and
I could tell the size of it was making him nervous.

"Sniff my balls," I whispered.

"What?"

"Sniff my balls!" I repeated, louder this time.

I watched his homely face as he slid in-between my spread legs and nosed
his way over my hairy nuts, inhaling the musky aroma that even I could
smell.  I adjusted myself so I could spread my legs even wider and
snickered as he burrowed with his nose behind my balls where I knew it'd be
even stinkier.

"Now suck on 'em," I quietly ordered.

Peter started making a little whining sound in response to my command, but
he did it.  He did it eagerly, in fact.  The second I felt his slick,
velvety tongue scoop up my nuts and pop them into his big mouth, pre-cum
started flowing out of my dick and running down the shaft.

I had my arms crossed behind my head, enjoying the view as much as I
enjoyed the service.  I stroked his body with my thigh, brushing against
his feverish skin and feeling how moist he was.  This boy sweat more than
any guy I had ever known.

"Yeah, Peter, suck my balls, dude, you like it, don't you?  I can tell.  I
knew you'd get off sucking my junk, fucker!"

This was too much for him, I guess, because he moaned and then spat my
balls out of his mouth and sucked up the thread of saliva that still
connected his lips to my nuts.

"Damn!" he said as he gasped in air, his chest rising and falling fairly
rapidly.  Peter was charged-up to fever pitch, just the way I wanted him.
His eyes were bright and shiny now, the glassy emptiness gone from moments
earlier.

I held out my hand to him, motioning him to come up and lay beside me.  As
he turned himself around to face me, he laughed a bit drunkenly until we
were nose-to-nose.  He leaned in with his big mouth already open and his
thick tongue squirming out.  We pressed ourselves close together, cocks
banging into each other and limbs twining in an attempt to physically merge
into a new identity.  It felt like we were burning.

While we shoved our tongues all around each other's mouths I fondled his
big dick, amazed at how juicy and slippery he was.  I could have cum in
seconds if I'd let myself, but I didn't.  There was still far too much fun
to be had to waste it all so quickly in a blinding flash of deranged bliss.

The music Peter had put on fueled us as much as the weed and the vodka.
Huge, crashing chords ripped their way out of those tortured electric
guitars, the vocalist wailing and screaming like the damned.  Martial
rhythms came roaring out of the drums, the beat like a flail whipping our
sweating, grunting bodies into a bloody mass of nerve-endings and
short-circuited synapses.

"I want to fuck you so bad," Peter gasped as I bit hard into his throat.  I
murmured random noises into his face, knowing he'd give me the ride of my
life when it was time.

I was sucking and biting on his neck and chest, leaving a trail of hickeys
behind.  I didn't know - or care - if they were going to cause him problems
when it came time for explanations.  Something told me that it would be OK
to mark him, that more than likely it wouldn't be anything new for him.  He
hadn't said not to, in any case, so I took that as an open invitation to
mark him all I liked.

Giving and getting hickeys has always turned me on; I love seeing them the
next day or unexpectedly running into the person you marked, seeing the red
bruises and knowing where they came from.  Sort of like a dirty little
secret that only the 2 involved know the truth about.

"You want my ass, huh?" I snickered at him.

"Oh, hell yeah..."

"Are you up for getting fucked, too?  'Cuz I really want to be the first
guy who taps that hot fucking ass of yours, bro."

It was a trip, cuz we were speaking directly into each other's mouths.  I
could almost feel our words more than hear them.

"Oh fucking god, do whatever you want to me, dude, I fucking wanna do
everything!"  Peter was out of his mind with horniness.  I'd seen this
before, young guys who get so over-stimulated that they'll do anything.
They're animals.  It's awesome.

I actually slithered my body around so I could suck his cock and mine would
be right there staring him in the face.  I wanted to see if he'd be as
hungry for it as I thought he would be.

He was.

The second I grabbed his hard prick and flicked my tongue all around the
ridge of his dick head, Peter had my cock half-way down his throat.  At
first he couldn't go too deep or he'd gag, just like Tim when he sucked me
off the first time.  It's just an occupational nuisance when you're goofing
around with inexperienced boys.  You get used to it.  In fact, it's sorta
hot in a way.

When I took him all the way in my mouth Peter bucked his hips fast several
times and then sort of vibrated.  His body was out of control and at first
I thought he was going to spurt in my mouth right off the bat.  But I used
a few tricks I know to help him contain his lust and got him settled down
into a nice, strong, sucking rhythm.  The smell coming from his 'taint' -
his perineum - was filling my head every time I plunged back down to his
pubes, burying my nose in the thicket of tight, wiry, pubic curls.  Each
new inhalation just made me want to flip him over so I could go to work on
his asshole.

But I contented myself with savoring his formidable 16 year-old cock.
While I chowed down on his slick, veiny dick, Peter had relaxed his throat
enough to be able to get almost all my 7.75" down his throat.  Every once
in a while he would spit my dick out and batter it all over and around his
face.  My dick skin was so sensitive that I could feel the rough, uneven
topography of his face: his sparse, wispy facial hair, his acne feeling
like genital Braille under the tender skin of my prick.

We 69'd for maybe 10 minutes and then I told him to get up on his hands and
knees.  Without a blink he was up on all-fours, head down and wagging back
in forth in sex-fueled delirium, ass squirming back and forth in
anticipation of whatever was about to attack it.

I smacked his ass hard a few times as I ran my other hand up and down his
damp back, squeezing his pimply shoulders and rubbing his sides.

"Did you like it when I tongued your ass, bro?" I asked him quietly.

"Fuck yeah, are you gonna do it again?"

"Yep.  First I'm gonna get you relaxed and then I'm gonna fuck you real
hard, punk."

"Do it, yeah; do it!" he whined as he buried his head for a moment in his
sour pillow.

I spread his rounded cheeks, exposing his tight brown hole surrounded by
dark, silky hair.  I spat into my hand and stroked the hairs, making them
shine with my saliva.  Peter was humming with the goodness of it all.

"You ever play with your butt, bro, you ever stick anything up it?" I asked
him as I pet his hole.

"Nah, not really - "

He broke off in mid-sentence and ended it with a high-pitched squeal as I
brought my face level with his ass and snaked my tongue into his asshole.
He felt incredible -- hot and slick and slippery on the inside, steamy and
moist on the outside.  Peter started moaning and whining like he was being
tickle-tortured and it was awesome.

I would pull his cock between his legs so I could suck on it every once in
a while.  But I have to admit my attention was focused on his ass, sweet
and nasty and untouched.  He smelled and tasted just like you'd imagine a
teenage guy's ass would.  There's nothing else like it in the world.  And
here I was, buried face-first inside the sweaty, hairy crack of a dirty 16
year-old punk.  Nothing prevented me from doing whatever I wanted with him.
He had given me the green light and I was about to peel off and lay tracks.
But mostly I wanted him to get exactly what he wanted, whatever he had
fantasized about.  So I unglued my face from his ass and asked him.

"What do you want to happen, bro?  You tell me what you want, what you've
been thinking about."

He didn't answer at first, and I could sense his confusion.  I figured,
like most guys his age, all he knew was that he wanted 'something' to
happen with another dude, but was incapable of naming it for a variety of
reasons.  He just kept squirming and almost squealing.

So I helped him out.

"You want me to fuck you and you want to fuck me, right?"

Peter nodded and moaned out something like "yes."

"You wanna eat my ass out, bro?  Cuz I love it."

He gasped once or twice and then I stopped touching him so he could speak.

It took him a few seconds to collect his wits and then he told me that he
wasn't so sure about eating out an ass.  I told him to just try it and if
he wasn't into it he could stop and we'd do other stuff.  He thought about
it for a moment and sighed.

"Look, just lay on your side and I'll eat you out while you try it on me."

We positioned ourselves head-to-toe and each hooked an arm under a leg so
we could dig in deep on each other's butts.  I made sure to lap all around
him and get him good and excited before I worked over his ass 'til his head
was swimming.  Whenever I lapped hard on his perineum he moaned and I knew
I'd found a nice, sensitive spot on his scrawny, smelly body.

My eating him out did the trick.  As soon as I had my tongue plunging in
and out of his shitter, Peter got amped enough to just dive in and give it
a try.  He licked my hairy hole lightly at first but the deeper I went on
him, the bolder he got.  Soon he was grinding his pimply mug deep between
my legs, trying to stick his tongue as far into me as he could get it.  It
felt awesome, and it looked even better.

Whenever he came up to examine his handiwork his flushed face was smeared
with ass spit.  I wanted to kiss him so I could taste myself on his lips
but I was too into gorging on his hot, pimply boy butt.

I started pushing fingers into him to get him loosened up for the wild fuck
I was going to give him.  He took 1 finger with no problem but he started
tensing and thrashing when I got 2 in him.  I figured 3 or 4 would be about
right before I tried stuffing my throbbing cock up his tender asshole.

He was obviously uncomfortable but able to tolerate it when I got a fourth
finger into him finally.  He was gasping and grimacing, almost yelling and
I had to keep telling him to shut up or somebody would hear us.  It didn't
stop him and I figured he knew better than I so I just let him roar.  His
shack really was pretty well secluded from the house.

The ass-munching I had just given him got him nice and relaxed and ready to
get his ass pounded.  I told him to get back onto his hands and knees cuz I
wanted to fuck him like a dog.

Peter rolled onto his side and then scrambled up onto all fours as I lubed
up my cock with spit.  The second his ass was in position I started
prodding it with the tip of my dick.  When he got used to the sensation I
told him to push back onto my cock and to bear down like he was taking a
dump.

I heard him grunt and whimper as I started pressing into him.  My cock head
went in fairly quickly, smooth and easy, but when it came up against his
sphincter it was like hitting a wall.  I stayed put and kept licking and
kissing his back and shoulders, purring hot trash talk into his ears,
getting him so overwhelmed with horniess that I was able pretty quickly to
ease all the way into him.  Then I just paused and let his body get
accustomed to being full of hot, hard cock.  Peter was gasping in that
exquisite combination of pain and perverse pleasure a dude feels the first
time he gets fucked.

I started slow on him and let him get used to it for a while before I
really got into a steady fuck rhythm.  By then, Peter was shouting in the
throes of this brand new sensation.  At times he sounded like a little boy
when he'd utter a high-pitched little shriek when I bucked hard and deep
and that sort of freaked me out, but I got used to it and it all just made
everything more sexed-up and crazy.

I was all over that kid.  I was climbing all over him, and I almost came
when I started basically fucking him like an animal, squatting and sort of
covering his still-kneeling body with mine, fucking fast and hard.  Peter
was wailing in rhythmic bursts of frenzied bliss, and it was that
combination that almost made me spurt.

But I wanted to see his face when I blew, so I pulled out of his ass with a
wet plop after telling him to prepare for it.  When I was out I told him to
roll over on his back.  It took him a few seconds to regain his senses
before he could move and I smacked his ass and laughed.

Peter turned over and flopped down, his eyes closed and a goofy,
slack-jawed grin on his mug.  He started laughing really softly and then
opened his eyes.  He stared at me and I asked him how he was doing.

""Dude...."

He laughed.  "I can't fucking believe it, dude...this is fucking intense.
I can't believe this..."  He laughed some more.

"You like it; go ahead, say it; it's cool."  I started giggling, too, as I
fingered his loose, juicy hole with my finger.

Peter just flung an arm over his eyes, still chuckling, and sighed.

"Dude, whatever you're doing, don't stop.  This is fucking amazing!"

I pushed his legs apart and got between them before I hoisted his hairy
calves up and leaned down to fuck him with my tongue for a minute or so.
When I came up I leaned over him and kissed him, replacing my tongue with a
finger.  We made out for a little, both our cocks throbbing and pulsing
against each other's, supercharged from the taste of his ass on my breath
and tongue.  Peter was into it, so I pulled my finger out of his ass and
ran it under his nose.

"Smell that, fuckpig."

He closed his eyes and frowned for a flash and then giggled.  When I passed
my finger again he inhaled and then he sort of hummed and smiled.  The look
on his face got helluv nasty and almost demonic looking which I thought was
really sexy.

"That's my fucking punk ass, dude, my ass stinks GOOD!  Let me smell that
again!"

He laughed liked a horny banshee and that made me laugh my ass off, too.  I
really liked this kid's style.

I plunged my finger back inside him and wriggled it around, making him arch
his back and squeal with pleasure.  I pulled it out and wiped it over his
upper lip, wispy whiskers, pimples and all.

"Now you can smell your ass, bro, while I fuck you and I can smell it too
when I make out with you.  You're a fuckin' hot punk, Peter!"

Peter looked at me and smiled.

"Yeah?"

"Oh, hell yeah!"  I laughed and he joined in, looking bashfully proud and
pleased with himself.  He looked almost cute, kind of adorable.

When I slid back into his greasy hole I was able to pick up speed pretty
quick.  Peter's bed was slamming against the wall and squeaking, nearly
walking itself around the room.  I was giving it to him good and he loved
every fucking second of it.  Peter was a real bottom boy, and I wondered
what he'd be like as a fucker.

He did something that surprised and delighted me, a nasty trick that was
worthy even of my dirty imagination.  As he was thrashing around, he
suddenly raised his head and watched me fucking him.  Then he brought his
dirty sock-covered foot up to my face and rubbed it over my cheek and face.

The rank, cheesy aroma made my cock swell even tighter and I fucked him
faster.  That stink just made me want to shoot so fucking bad.  I looked at
him and grinned 'til it felt like my face was going to split in half.  I
grabbed his foot and rubbed that fucking nasty sock all over my face and
head, then sniffed it all over and I think I might have even bit on it and
licked it a few times.  I was out of my head from all the sensory stimuli I
was being bombarded with.  Peter could see what was happening and he
started talking trash in an excited voice.

"That fucking sock reeks, don't it, dude?  Get that fucking nasty stink all
over your face, you dirty motherfucker!  Yeah, smells good, don't it?  Hell
yeah, you should fucking smell my boots when I first take 'em off!"

He laughed like a perverted maniac, jacking himself off the whole time.

I flung his legs up onto my shoulders and really plowed into him.  He
started shouting so loud he grabbed a pillow to stifle himself and bit it,
roaring, as I got ready to shoot.

The most awesome part is that just as I was building up to spewing Peter
got a fierce look on his face, raised his head again, and stared at his
dick this time.  He started grunting and almost snorting, puffing out that
he was gonna nut.

He gave a mighty heave and sigh and stuck his tongue out as a jet of jizz
shot out and splattered against his cheek.  The next one was a fucking
bull's eye and hit the back of his tongue, making him close his mouth
involuntarily to swallow.  In that moment, another jet, the biggest yet,
flew up and out and slammed onto his 'hawk, a thick gob of sperm dripping
down it.  By now he'd gasped his mouth open again, tongue outstretched, but
the rest of his load landed on his chest.  It was an awesome sight, and I
immediately leaned over him while I raced to the finish to lap up some of
his nut.  I needed to know if it tasted as amazing as I thought it would.

It did.  Bleachy and vitamin-y and strong, so good that I leaned my head
back and nearly screamed as I felt my nuts about to burst.  I bucked hard
into him and had one of the strongest and longest orgasms I have ever felt.

I must have sent 7 or 8 good spooge-rockets shooting up his guts.  I
couldn't believe how good it felt, and Peter was still recovering from his
own orgasm, panting and sweating like a fucking pig.

As my pumping slowed to sharp spasms, my nuts now temporarily emptied, we
both began to giggle as we panted for breath.  Peter's ass made sloppy,
squishing sounds every time I jerked into him.  When I pulled my dick out
it was shiny and slimy, slathered in cum and ass juices.  I wiped it off on
his leg.  It smelled fucking awesome.

I collapsed next to Peter and we made out for a little while.  The room
reeked bad.  I inhaled deeply and then screwed up my nose.

"Bro, your room fucking stinks!"

Peter grinned and looked at me quizzically.

"It does?  How?"

I laughed and said, "Well, right at the moment, it stinks like fresh
butt-fucking and b.o.  But there's also a sour stink like dirty laundry and
fucking nasty, stiff socks..."

I inhaled again and got all dreamy.

Peter chuckled softly and said, "I guess I don't notice it.  Smells fine to
me."

"Smells fine to me, too, bro!"  I cracked up and gave him another hickey as
we lazed next to each other, spent and content.

He said, "That was fucking amazing, dude.  That was the most intense thing
I ever done."

Peter rolled off the bed and moved to a chair near the door where his
smokes and lighter were placed.  He lit up a cigarette and asked me if I
wanted one.

As we both leaned back on his bed, smoking and lounging against each other,
I told him he still needed to fuck me.  Peter laughed and said he was just
taking a break but he'd be ready as soon as he was through with his smoke.
I figured it wouldn't take long before he was ready for Round Two; after
all, he was 16.

He got up and went into the tiny bathroom and took a piss, finishing up
with a deep fart and a hearty belch.  I remember he didn't flush the toilet
before he came back to bed and for some reason that made my cock start
swelling again.

I needed to piss, too, so I got up and went into the bathroom.  The toilet
looked like it hadn't been cleaned in months, if ever.  The bowl was
stained and ringed with a rusty orange circle.  His yellow piss
complemented the orange ring and I had to laugh.  Teenage boys can be so
fucking unconsciously nasty, oblivious to cleanliness and hygiene.
Sometimes it can go too far and just ends up being gross; but Peter's
personal hygiene nastiness rated a 10 in my book.

I added my piss to his and decided not to flush, either.  By the time I got
out of the bathroom my dick was sticking straight up and out from my moist,
pungent pubes.

Peter was sitting on the edge of his bed when I came back into the room,
gently stroking and eye-balling his already hard dick.  I paused and took
in the beautiful sight.  He looked at me and laughed.

"Dude, I'm horny again!"

I walked over to him and wagged my hard cock back and forth in his face.
He cupped my hairy ass in his hands and pulled me close.  My hands were on
his head, pulling him into my groin, grinding my pubes against his face,
slapping his head and cheeks with my fat dick.  Snail tracks of precum
criss-crossed his head in no time.

I knelt down in front of him; his eyes glittered as I jacked him off,
biting his nipples and then snaking my tongue into his pits.  I was trying
to get him super-horny so he'd fuck me good and hard.

Finally, he rasped out, "C'mon, I'm gonna fuck you up the ass now, dude."

I asked him how he wanted to do it and he got thoughtful for a second or
two.  I could tell he didn't really know what to say, probably because he
didn't know exactly what I meant.  So I asked him what position he wanted
to fuck me.  His face lit up and he blushed and laughed a bit, and he said
he wanted to try doing it standing up while I knelt on his bed.

I got into position and told him to hock a wad of spit on my asshole.  I
heard him get a mouthful of spit ready as I spread my hairy ass cheeks and
felt the warm air of the room beat against my exposed pucker.  He spat and
cool wetness slammed against my shitter; I told him to work it into my
hole.

Peter was breathing through his mouth and all I could hear for a few
moments was his respiration getting heavier and faster as he slid his
finger in and out of my ass a few times, getting it nice and slick with his
saliva.  The sight of my handsome, muscular ass must have been stoking the
fire in his loins.  I was excited and couldn't wait to feel his dick roar
up my hole.

"C'mon, punk, fuck me, fuck my ass.  I need to get fucked bad, bro."

He half-laughed, half-grunted in that special adolescent way as he placed
his hands on my back and widened his stance, getting ready to impale me on
his lance.  He hadn't lubed up his dick with anything, so I spat into my
hand, reached around me and grabbed his prick, and slid my slippery fist up
and down it a few times as he hissed in his breath and clutched my sides.

"Aw, fuck...  Watch out, Cal, you'll make me cum...."  He batted my hand
away.

"Fuck me, Peter, I want to feel that big dick inside me."

He let out a satisfied sigh and pushed into me.  I moaned as he slowly but
relentlessly pushed home until he was buried up to his pubes inside my
shithole.  I could feel the coarse wiry hair grind against my skin.

Then he started in on me.  He fucked the way I had hoped he would - fast,
hard, and totally self-absorbed.  His fingers were digging into my flesh
and grabbing my hips as he plunged in and out of me.  He was good at it,
rough and boyish, like an over-sexed puppy that's just discovered his dick
and all the good things it can make him feel.

"Fuck...feels so good, dude...omigod..." He sounded delirious.

I wanted to see him fuck me so I let him go on for a few more minutes
before I told him I wanted to change positions.  He stopped pumping but
didn't pull out, so I kept him inside me as I turned over and laid down
flat on my back, hiking my legs up so he could keep fucking.

His face was beet red and streaming with sweat.  It literally ran down his
face from his brow and dripped off his chin onto my stomach.  He looked
amazingly brutish and ugly, inflamed zits even redder than the flesh of his
cheeks and forehead.

"C'mon, Peter, you fuckin' piece of shit punk, fuck me good, kid!"  I was
grabbing his thighs and pulling him into me as he bucked back and forth.
With every forward thrust his big balls slapped my ass with a damp smack,
bringing us both closer to spurting.

"You like it?" I panted as he worked me over.

"Awww, fuck yeah!  This is awesome!"

"Cum on my face when you're ready, bro," I said, my words shaky and breathy
from the sweet fuck he was torturing me with.

"'K," he managed to grunt out.

We were both now on the bed, and I made us adjust our positions for the big
finish by laying flat on my back with my legs spread, Peter laying down on
top of me with his big cock shoved up my ass.  He said it was almost like
fucking a chick as he thrust into me while we kissed and licked and bit at
each other, mouths glued to each other's one moment, faces buried in swampy
pits the next.

I was close to shooting from all the slippery, sweaty body contact and the
wet, sloppy tongue action, not to mention all those incredible smells.
Peter was grunting like a pig now and he said he was getting really close.
He jacked up the intensity of his pounding and raised himself up on his
hands so he could go harder and deeper.

Teeth clenched and eyes squeezed tight shut, Peter started moaning and
wailing and told me to get ready.  He snatched his dick out of my gaping
asshole so fast that I jerked involuntarily and gasped from the sudden
evacuation, but I quickly opened my mouth as he scrambled up and knelt
right in front of my upraised head.

I could smell my asshole on his cock, it was so close to my face.  The
light in the room made his prick shine like a lollipop fresh out of some
kid's mouth.  Peter noticed the awesome sex stink wafting up from his dick
and my reaction to it at the same moment.  His mouth twisted into a mean
grin, crooked and demented, and he battered my cheeks and forehead with his
slimy fuckpole.

"You like that stench, huh?  Fucking ass stink all over my dick...  Suck on
it!"

He smacked my lips and chin with his cock, and I pulled him closer to me so
I could wrap my lips around it.  When I did that, Peter's face got a look
of inhuman nastiness on it and he cackled as I sucked on his dirty prick.
It tasted masculine, sexual, primal.  My taste; my flavor.

The sounds he made now were incredible.  A loud, grunting "ungh!", faster
and louder the closer he got to blast off.  Suddenly, he nearly doubled
over and then flung his head back and arched backwards as he pulled his
dick out of my devouring mouth and pumped so close to my face his dick head
was battering my tongue.  A thick rope of nut flew out and slammed against
the roof of my mouth as jet after jet of his potent sperm filled my mouth
and frosted my lips and chin.  Peter's body was almost convulsing as he
unleashed what seemed like a never-ending load.

I swallowed at least 3 times and I still kept getting fed more.  Finally it
eased off and I licked all around my lips to capture every tasty drop of
his jizz.  Peter's cum tasted just right for him, strong and acrid with a
sweet/salty after-taste.

I was right behind him and I barked out, "Here it comes!"

Peter spun around to crouch over my cock, his ass just inches away from my
face.  I got my head as close to his ass as I could and inhaled a good,
long breath and let loose with a spectacular load.  The smell of ass and
getting fucked always makes me cum super hard.

I tend to be what I call a sloppy sprinkler when I nut.  By that, I mean my
cum sprays out like a water sprinkler, going everywhere.  That's what
happened to Peter and his bed.  My nut flew out and hit him in the face
like a water balloon.  Cum doused his whole head, including his mohawk, his
shoulders and chest, the sheets all around me, god knows where else.  I
know he took several shots right in the mouth.  All I could hear was his
sex-crazed laughter as he watched me unload up close.

When I was done he lay down on top of me and my spooge felt warm and
slippery as he rubbed against my body.

We made out some more as our orgasms abated, delirious from the nasty
exchange of smells and tastes.  I could clearly taste and smell his asshole
over his upper lip, where I had earlier wiped my finger fresh from his
sweating hole.  I know he could taste mine from sucking on his
ass-juice-coated prick.

The intensity of the odors, the feel of out wet, hairy bodies glued
together, the thrumming of our over-worked libidos...  The combination of
all these things unhinged our minds and for a few seconds we were total
animals.

I guess we fell asleep soon after, cuz when I woke up it was almost 4 a.m.
Peter had rolled off me half-way and I had to shove him a bit to get out
from under him.  I got dressed quietly and watched Peter snore away.  He
looked so young and vulnerable when he slept, but I knew better.

Before I left I sat down beside him and stroked his butt and back, leaning
down over him to savor his smell again before I split.  He woke up just
enough for me to say that I was taking off.  Without even opening his eyes,
he told me he wanted to get together again soon.  I laughed softly and told
him to call me whenever he wanted to.

As I opened his door to leave, he sat up and stared at me through
half-closed eyes.

"Hey, Cal..."

"Yeah?"

"Hey...so, do you want me to be your boyfriend?"

I thought I had misheard him and I said, "What?"

"I'll be your boyfriend if you want."

"What are you talking about, bro?"  I didn't want a boyfriend; I had a girl
I wanted to marry.

By now he was more or less awake and he sat up straighter on his bed,
absently fiddling with his dick.

"I don't mean like queers or anything like that.  I mean like..."  He
didn't know what the term was.

"Like, a fuck buddy?"  I laughed at him, I just couldn't help it.

"Yeah, yeah, fuck buddies, that's what I mean.  Wanna be mine?"  He was
grinning by now.

"Dude, like I said, call me whenever you want."

I opened the door a little further, eager to get home and crawl into my own
bed.

"Hey, Cal..."

"What, dude?"  I was getting a bit irritated, just because I was tired and
wanted to go to sleep.

"Hey, don't say anything to Tim about this, OK?"

I laughed again.  "No problems, bro.  Don't worry about it."

"Hey, Cal...wanna meet me at lunch Monday?  I have lunch period from 11:30
to 12:30."

It just so happened that I had business in downtown Berkeley on Monday and
I would be very close to the high school.  I told him I would drive by the
back of the school around 11:30 and if he was there we could go grab lunch
and whatever.  Then I left.

He was indeed waiting for me that Monday and it started a pattern we kept
up until he graduated from high school.  Whenever I knew I was going to be
in Berkeley I'd call him the night before and tell him.  I'd pick him up,
we'd grab a quick lunch, then drive to a spot we knew in the neighborhoods
near campus and trade quick hand-jobs or blow-jobs.  I must have swallowed
a good pint or two of Peter's cum during that time.  I know he got at least
that much of mine.  Only once or twice did we actually fuck during those
lunch time hook-ups; it was hard to find a good private place where we
could get into it without having to worry about snoopy neighbors.  Outside
of school time...well, that was a different story.

Peter is still a good buddy of mine, 5 years later.  We still fuck around
occasionally, but I'm a married father now and I spend most of my free time
with my family.  Or with Tim.  But when we can manage it or feel the urge,
Peter and I love getting down for some nasty, sweaty, punk-on-jock action.

He's 21 now and I'm 29.  He's still into the punk scene, still in a band
(not the same one), still refuses to use deodorant.  His complexion has
cleared up mostly and he's packed more muscle and fat on his frame.  He
looks damned hot, loves to fuck, and sucks cock like a pro.  He lives with
his girlfriend not far from me and my wife and kids.  My wife thinks he's a
little too crazy, but my kids love him.  They call him 'Uncle Pete', which
makes us both crack up.

Funny how things turn out, huh?