Date: Sun, 27 May 2007 23:07:17 +0000
From: Kevin Berry <kgberrywriting@hotmail.co.uk>
Subject: Charlie's Secret Heartache pt4

This is a Lost fan-fiction story. The rights to these characters belong to
and are copyright protected by J.J. Abrams and Damon Lindelof and I am
using them without permission. Please send feedback to
kgberrywriting@hotmail.co.uk , it would be very much appreciated!

Now, please sit back and enjoy...

Charlie's Secret Heartache pt4

Jack's Past

The bar was beginning to empty, and Jack had been drinking for a few hours
already. He was pretty far under, and was declaring to anyone who would
listen, in a loud voice, that all women were bitches and who needed them
anyway?

"Divorce?" a man asked, after another of Jack's outbursts. His accent was
not quite place-able by Jack, but it sounded European.

"Yeah," the drunken doctor replied. He had no surgery the following day, as
he was given leave for the legal battle, and was taking the opportunity to
drink all he could. Looking up at the speaker, he saw a handsome (drunken)
face, a little younger than himself, with a bald head and a bulky frame.

"You know, men don't need women, and women don't need men. We can get along
fine by ourselves!" The other man was also, obviously, incredibly drunk.

"You're damn right... erm... wassyur name?"

"Rick."

"Rick I am Jack, and you are a genius." Jack waved his glass emphatically as
he pointed to the deliverer of the words that rung so true to Jack.

"I'll tell you something, Jack. You come round to my place and I'll prove to
you that women do not need men in any way."

"I don't need proof," Jack replied, bitterly.

"I want to give you proof, you fuckin' woman!"

"I'm not a woman!"

"Then come with me."

"Aaaaaall right. I'll go with you."

Rick made a slurred phone call to a taxi company and the two drunken men
arrived at his apartment. He switched on a lamp to reveal a decent-sized,
smartly decorated living room; Jack sat down and watched Rick go to a shelf,
pull out a video and put it into his video player. After he pushed play,
Rick pointed at the screen grandly and announced, "That is why women do not
need men!"

Jack, sitting back on the sofa, began to get extremely aroused. His clean,
dark blue jeans began to fill with expanding man-meat at the vision on the
screen. Two women, blondes with huge breasts, were wrapped around each
other, kissing and undoing each other's bra straps, stroking their soft,
smooth thighs and breathing airy sighs of pleasure and lust. Jack began to
gently, but rapidly, squeeze and unsqueeze his legs to excite himself,
squeezing his ball sack inside his boxers, rubbing the sensitive head
against his jeans.

Rick sat by Jack on the black leather sofa. He sat with his knees wide
apart, openly rubbing his dick through his black trousers; it was smaller
than Jack's, though clearly visible and very hard through the fabric.
Triumphantly unzipping and pulling out a 7-inch cock with a small, red head,
he began to masturbate enthusiastically, telling Jack, "And this is why men
do not need women." His dick was pierced with a thick bar through the
frenum.

"You got that right," he replied, glancing down at the penis, while feeling
his own. He got a weird kind of pleasure looking at it, realizing he hardly
knew the stranger he was jerking off with.

Encouraged and aroused by Rick's openness, Jack turned back and watched the
porn film intently while undoing his trousers and boxers. He released his
penis and pumped away as the women began to steadily finger one another,
feeling, touching, squeezing their breasts; they licked and tasted each
other's wet pussies and moaned divine fake orgasms. Rick occasionally
mumbled words like "slags" and "whores" while pleasuring himself over their
dirtiness, looking hungrily at Jack jerking away at regular intervals.

Rick removed his shirt and trousers, and was sitting in a pair of blue
boxer-briefs, working with his dick sticking out of the top. Jack too
removed his blue shirt and jeans, leaving only his white boxers, manhood
leaving through the fly. His other hand stroked his body - chest, thighs and
neck.

The film finished, and since the video had not started from the beginning,
neither man had come. The screen went black, darkening the room with it. The
whirring sound of the auto-rewind on the tape started, and Jack turned to
face Rick in the lamplight, waiting for some kind of sign as to what would
happen next, eyes flicking from his face to the metal in his prick and back.

Rick had an odd look in his eye. Hastily, he removed his underwear
completely, casting it across the floor. Then he climbed on top of Jack, who
was beginning to feel more sober, and breathed an intoxicated message into
his ear: "We don't need them." He could feel the European's dick piercing
rub into his stomach hair as he received a passionate, loveless kiss on his
mouth which he reluctantly accepted, and then returned.

The feeling was unexpected, and Jack returned a look of shock and fear into
Rick's eyes. They were filled with the pleasures of lust. His penis ground
into Jack's body as they kissed again. The muscles in Jack's body were tight
with fear.

"You gonna do what I say?" Rick asked.

"Yes," was all Jack could muster as a reply. Jack could not have denied him.
His body was hungry and lust was coursing like poison through his veins,
calling for his throbbing penis to be satisfied.

"Stand up."

Jack stood, his figure filling the room.

"Turn around, and take off your underwear."

The glory of Jack's tight, muscular buttocks shone in Rick's direction in
the lamp light.

"Face me."

Well-kept pubic hair, neatly shaven and freshly trimmed. A hairy torso and
firm legs. Low balls and a pulsing, eight inch dick. Arms muscled but, as
yet, free of tattoos.

"Kneel down on one knee, and show me your real muscles."

Jack obliged. His muscles were large, though nothing like a pro-weight
lifter or wrestler's, and smooth. They bulged and grew as he showed off the
fruits of his training work to his appreciative audience. He kept a brave
straight face on, even though he secretly feared being buggered by this man.
Manly haired pecs, biceps and rippled abs displayed themselves for Rick.

"Very nice, Jack, very sexy..." He appraised his body, and muttered a
foreign word under his breath. "Come here," he said, stroking a spot on the
leather couch beside him.

Jack sat. His penis longed to be relieved of its tensions; but half of his
head didn't want sex with this man, was repulsed and disgusted at the idea
of sex with men full stop, let alone a stranger he met in a pub and knew for
less than ten minutes. Yet the other half of his head longed for it,
expected it even demanded it. "What now?" he asked, leaving the ball in
Rick's court.

"Lay back."

And he did so, feeling the cold leather along his back. Looking along his
torso, past his bulging gear, he could see Rick's erection glistening, the
bar chunky through the flesh. His legs, one at a time, were lifted onto
Rick's shoulders. Hands stroked his thighs, the rough hairs rumpled then
smoothed. He felt his fingers, wet with lube, glide into his sphincter and
run back and forth. The buggery was coming, and though Jack feared it, he
lusted for it. This was something Sarah could never give him, but he had
given her aplenty, which just made his not needing her even more true.

"Jack, I want your beautiful body for my own..." he crooned, a rough and
exotic voice.

All the while, Jack tugged and stroked on his ball sack, feeling the smooth,
fresh-shaved skin under his fingers. The roughness of his fingers traveled
up to the shaft with which he teased himself, moving it in tiny amounts up
and down.

Now Rick had slid as many fingers as he could manage into Jack, he rolled on
a condom. Leaving no word of warning, no further foreplay, he shoved his
entire cock into Jack's ass in one go, quickly pulling back and pushing
forwards. Jack grunted and moaned, feeling a familiar sick feeling of pain
and pleasure, crying "No! No!"

"Yes! Yes you fucking man-slut!" Rick cried back at him. "You're gonna take
my man meat! I own you now, boy!"

His pace was exceptionally fast, and too much for Jack to bear. Tears were
begging to crawl down his face, but he kept his tears in. Gradually, his
pain transformed into groans of pleasure.

"Take that you gay whore!" Rick shouted. "You like it now, huh?! Think you
need a woman?"

"No, I don't need a... agh... a woman!"

"You want my fucking cock now - say it!"

"I need your cock now, Rick."

"My FUCKING cock!"

"I need your fucking -" Rick plunged deep into Jack's ass. "Argh, argh! Your
f-" His meat was sliding hard and fast, deep into Jack's insides. "Mmhrm - I
need your fucking cock, Rick!"

"You piece of... argh... cheap..." Spunk fired into Jack's ass as he
received the blows of the orgasm, encased in the rubber. More foreign words
leaked out as his orgasm died away.

He pulled out. Before Jack knew it, Rick's bald head was down, eating his
meat, his whole shaft swallowed instantly and without a problem or breath.
Sucking hard and slurping, Jack felt the wet enclosures of his mouth bring
him to climax fast, and he grunted his closed-eyed ecstasy to the beautiful
foreigner.

"Rick..." Jack moaned, running his hands over his smooth, bald head.

He made no response except to suck harder and faster.

"Ah... arrh..." He tried to find a way to tell Rick that he could feel a
pleasure beyond all he had known in his life, and that he had feared sex
with men before Rick had opened this new world to him in his adult life. He
wanted to find a way to tell Rick that he was close, so close to firing his
load in to his beautiful throat, and to tell him that he didn't need women
any more because this man love was more than he could ever need. But his
head was filled with a light fog, with bliss and the focused pleasures of
lust, his breathing grew heavy and hoarse, and all Jack could say was,
"Fuck."

Rick grunted a gagged cry of pleasure into Jack's crotch, and a hand stroked
Jack's thigh. Jack was bucking into him, and soon enough...

"Fuck... fuuuck..."

His hands pushed Rick's head into him, and he felt the fog in his head
thicken, and then, fluid, escape his body through his giant breaths;
liquidized lust flowed from him, and Jack's satisfied appetite shot from his
body, being swallowed by the European stranger, whose eyes were open,
looking at his face in its glorious orgasm.

The two sat panting, apart once again. "You look beautiful when you come,
Jack. You ever been fucked like that before?"

Jack felt shy. He had never told this to anyone before, but he was still
affected by the drink and the sex experience he just had was clogging his
brain. Quietly, he said, "My Dad used to..."

"I'm sorry," Rick replied, stroking Jack. He cupped his balls and kissed his
face.

"It was a long time ago. I don't talk about it." Jack stood up. In silence,
he picked up his boxers, slipping them up over his softened penis, his neat
pubes. Quietly, he pulled on his jeans and did up the zip, put on his socks
and shoes.

The awkwardness left Rick speechless; he somehow couldn't remember what he
would have normally said after sex like that. Normally, they don't just
admit their father used to abuse them. Jack left the apartment without
saying a word more to Rick.

On the street on the way home, bathed in the fake orange light, he thought
back to when he was twelve. His father would come into his room, climb into
his bed, and Jack would pretend to be asleep. Then the feeling of his
father's naked penis, rubbing his back through his T-shirt. His strong hands
removing his briefs. Then the fingers went in. The wrong feelings of
pleasure, the way he liked it. The feeling of fear that his Dad would be
angry if he knew he took it that way. The silent submission to his father's
demands, the unvoiced pain at the penetration, just like with Rick. But with
Rick it was Jack's choice, and with Rick it was allowed. Then, it wasn't
secretive and shameful, it was open and willing.

And now, as he walked, he wondered, what was he doing with Sarah? He stole
his virginity, and now he was stealing his wife.

Jack got home. Sarah wasn't there. He stripped naked, and got into bed.
Those days were long gone, he reminded himself as he lay under the covers.
As he gently caressed himself, his butt cheeks and his slightly sore hole,
he realised he no longer feared his Dad. If he wanted to, he could be the
one doing the abusing now. But despite what Rick had said, and what they'd
done, he still needed Sarah. He still desperately needed Sarah.

* * *

Charlie Pace was a cautious 15-year-old. He was always shy in the shower
room after sports, even though he wasn't a bad footballer, and was average
`downstairs'. He had another reason; he was afraid that his other self
would emerge. He was afraid that the presence of naked male bodies and the
feeling of being naked with them would make him sexually aroused: he
couldn't help it. It had happened before - he was lucky to have been able to
hide it, time after time, and be saved from the humiliation of being known
as a `batty boy' for the rest of his foreseeable future.

A cursory glance at the body of his friend Alex Hughes, even in his sports
briefs, had already made him semi-hard. Alex was advanced in puberty for his
age; he shaved fairly regularly, had well-developed muscles and a lot more
hair than most other people in the changing room, on his arms, under his
arms, on his face, stomach and especially his groin. He wasn't what you'd
call beautiful, but he had a certain level of handsomeness. Charlie thought
he was beautiful though - he liked Alex's deep voice and innate manliness.
He bit his lip, shook his head and forced his mind out of these alien
thoughts. He wasn't gay. He definitely wasn't gay. Bravely, he removed his
grey boxers and showered quickly. Silently, he got dried and dressed and
somehow, miraculously, managed to hide his erect penis once again.

They walked home together after school since both lived in the same end of
town. They were good friends, and frequently slept over at each others'
houses; the conversation usually went something along these lines:

"You want to come over to mine this Friday?"

"Yeah if you want. Bring - " whatever video game it was they were obsessed
with at the time.

"Cool, I'll see you then."

So it had been earlier that week. Charlie invited Alex over to sleep at his
house, with a clutch of a feeling in his stomach he desperately tried to
ignore. Why did he feel this way? It wasn't right. This was how he felt
about Rachel before, and Jenny before her... a significant list of girls,
actually. Alex definitely should not be on that list. That feeling was for
girls.

Friday came, and Alex set up camp in Charlie's room. As per usual, they
plugged in Charlie's Nintendo and began a two-player fighting game; they
watched comedy shows that Charlie's mum wouldn't have approved of; then they
got undressed and lay down to sleep with the light off.

Once again, Charlie was impressed by Alex as they undressed. His body seemed
to get constantly bigger, and Charlie couldn't help but look at Alex's body
hair, his large brown nipples, and his groin, pressing against his tight
grey boxer shorts. His own dick began to stir, and Charlie's face got
extremely red as he stood in his own blue briefs, quickly turning off the
light and sliding into his bed.

"You alright mate?" Alex asked. They always talked after the light was off.

"Yeah I suppose, why?"

"You looked kinda nervous there."

"Oh. Well I'm fine."

"No you're not. You've been acting weird all week. What's up?"

"It's nothing! I'm not acting weird." Charlie was frightened - Alex had
noticed. That was not good.

"Come on..."

Alex got out of bed and switched on the light. His body was tanned, and very
developed for a fifteen-year-old's. All that shrouded him were those boxer
shorts, and at seeing him standing in his own bedroom, Charlie began to feel
aroused, and this in turn led to sadness.

"It's nothing Alex," he lied, and turned on his side.

"Hey, come on man," Alex returned. He walked up to Charlie, and left his
soft crotch at head height, causing Charlie to turn away. His hand stroked
Charlie's bare skin in his bed, and Charlie's dick stood up to its full six
inches. He sat up in bed. His body was normal for a guy his age, with a look
of having grown a lot quite quickly, but with a certain healthiness to it
that wasn't found in most teenagers.

"I can't tell you," he said. His face looked down, and he refused to make
eye contact with Charlie.

Alex wrapped his arm around Charlie's shoulders, and he sat on Charlie's
bed. Charlie blushed.

"You can tell me. You can tell me anything Charlie."

The way Alex was sat revealed a partially hard penis in his boxers. He still
did not have the guts to say anything to Alex.

"I... I like someone. Someone..." He breathed. Well? He had started, and
couldn't finish there. "I can't tell you, because you'll think I'm..." He
tailed off pathetically. Alex knew he could cover more ground if he tried,
but then he had a better idea.

"You know what I find is the best solution to a liking someone problem?"
Alex asked brightly.

"What?"

"Jackin' off." He said, relishing the taboo word. He took his arms away from
Charlie, who looked at him in disbelief.

"I'm Catholic, man, you know I don't do that..." he said feebly. He had been
trying to give up masturbating for a long time and failed miserably.

"Oh come on, Charlie. I've caught you at it before!" Alex stood up. His
penis was already growing in a state of teenage arousal.

"Oh yeah... alright then." Charlie said.

"All you gotta do," Alex said, lying down on his sleeping bag, "is imagine
rubbing your cock up and down that person's body..." He had begun stroking
himself. He gently pushed his hips up into his hand as he went. Alex had
hinted at this kind of thing before in front of Charlie, and had even shown
him his erection, but had never touched or excited himself like this before
at one of their sleepovers.

Charlie was no fool. He noticed the ambivalent language Alex had used. But
he ignored it, and lay back on his bed, and touched himself through his
boxers. He imagined himself rubbing his crotch against Alex's muscled, far
superior body, running his hands through his soft black hair.

"Now imagine that person naked, lying down, and kissing them all the way up
their legs, to their sweet spot..."

Charlie could hear Alex going at his cock under his boxers. But then he
boldly removed them, and wanked freely to the air.

"Fuck it," Charlie said. He removed his boxers too, and sat up, masturbating
furiously and looking at Alex, who was looking back. His penis looked huge
to Charlie, although it was not much bigger than his own in length, only a
lot fatter and very veiny. He imagined himself kissing those muscled thighs,
licking the testicles and kissing the glans.

Charlie absorbed the sight of his naked friend, masturbating in his
presence, and went all the harder at his own, his face adopting a determined
look. But, as always, Alex took the boldest step. He walked over to
Charlie's bed, put his left arm over Charlie's back, and slowly worked at
Charlie's cock with his right hand. He had never been touched by another boy
before, and it was a welcome and reassuring feeling.

"Alex, that feels..." Charlie began, but words failed him. Instead, he moved
too, and he pleasured Alex, working at the same pace. The flesh felt strange
and new in his hands, hard yet soft, and very warm.

"I know," Alex returned to him. The two sat in silence, each listening to
the other's breath, soon picking up a fast pace as they masturbated, sharing
the other's feelings. Alex pushed and dropped his hips to Charlie's
handling, and Charlie - realizing this must be the way to do it - bucked and
dropped his hips also.

Much to Charlie's surprise, it was Alex who came first. He said in a quiet,
stifled voice, "Shit Charlie you making me come, you're... oh Christ..."
Three
short lines of semen burst forth from the head of Alex's cock onto his hairy
stomach.

Alex worked all the more furiously at Charlie as he came. Soon Charlie broke
the silence again, the large hand on his penis relentlessly pumping,
murmuring, "Alex, I'm gonna have, you're making me come, I mean..." and he
was
ejaculating himself, the semen splashing onto his chest, releasing the
pressure from his scrotum.

Alex released the grip on his penis. "Feel better?" he asked.

Charlie grinned, the same grin he always had, and always will have. "I think
I do," he said. He pulled a tissue box from next to his bed, and the two
teenagers cleared themselves up.

Exhausted, they drifted into an easy sleep. Neither mentioned the experience
to the other, but it was not the last time they would enjoy each other's
help.

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