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Content Warning: This is a fictional story which includes (but is not limited to) GRAPHIC SEXUAL CONTENT BETWEEN MINORS, DESCRIPTIVE MALE NUDITY and HOMOSEXUAL RELATIONSHIPS. You should be at least 18 years of age to read this and/or if reading, downloading or possession of this material is illegal where you live, exit this page now.
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Kyle Radshaw, M, 15yo
(you will need to click on the TWEET to open the full pic)
INT. A SMALL WOODEN SHACK - THE QUARRY PIT - DAY
In his perch high above the Cavinaugh cement plant, Kyle Schmidt felt decidedly uncomfortable. Twice he had lowered the telescopic scope attached to his M107 sniper rife, each time embarrassed not only for the stranger, a boy down on the rocks naked and masturbating, but for himself as well. He didn't consider himself gay, not at all. He had a girl and he had a kid; an attraction to other dudes was not in his deck of cards. Still, he couldn't help himself. Situated upon high in the conveyor control shack at the very top of the superstructure, he had a clear view of everything in and around the plant. As such, for the past twenty minutes he had been watching Carl.
Fifteen year-old Kyle had been in the shack for over a day now and he had seen Carl come up over the fence earlier that afternoon. His friends would be arriving later that evening, well after dark, and it had been his mission to make sure that the plant remained empty for their arrival. It was a rather solitary assignment, but he didn't mind. It needed to be done and he was the best shot with a rifle, remarkably so, and therefore things like this usually fell to him. When he saw the boy coming down the road he simply watched and waited. Surely this kid wasn't out here alone and expected his "people" to eventually show up as well. It was however, odd that the boy was alone, on foot and unarmed. Maybe this was a prospect.
For Kyle, Carl's laundry and bath routine in the pit had been no big deal, he showered with other boys all the time and saw it all. Big and floppy or diminutive and unmoving, circumcised or natural, with hair, the peach-fuzz stage or those still completely smooth, the boys of the Tribe ran the gambit. Still Kyle did not announce himself. Wait, listen and watch. That was his job.
And so, using the Mark 4 Leupoid scope of his rife he kept tabs through the heat of the afternoon. He figured the boy had found the vending machines in the office and when he heard the crash, he smiled knowing the kid was about to have a meal. When he didn't come out again, he again assumed correctly that the stranger had fallen asleep. By the way he looked, ragged, dirty and without a weapon, he probably needed rest. The kid's stock went up considerably when he ran back to get the soap out of the bathroom to wash not only himself, but his clothes as well. Smart and an interest in good hygiene. If he was a prospect, both were good signs.
The jerk off bit was a surprise, though he realized now it shouldn't have been. It's what teenaged boys did, himself included and on a very regular basis. Earlier that morning and in this very shack as a matter of fact. But observing another boy doing it from afar was, disconcerting. He felt somehow dirty. Like a pervert getting his jollies off watching unsuspecting boys (or girls) doing what was probably the most private solitary act a person can do. And, to his credit, he had tried looking away. Twice if he was keeping count. Once he simply put the rife down and tried to think about something else and then more recently in the interest of security. He had thought to change windows to make a visual tour of the other side of the compound. But, here he was, rifle aimed directly at the kid's crotch and watching him buck and writhe as he brought himself closer to a wet and sticky bliss.
Kyle felt the tightness growing in his underpants. The pouch of his briefs felt full as it held his semi-erect penis in place. He didn't have a full-on boner, that would have been just too weird, but he wasn't exactly soft either. And, even more disturbing, he could feel the pronounced dampness on the left side, the direction he normally tucked when he put his briefs on. He knew he was leaking precum and he wasn't even sexually stimulated. Or if he was, he certainly wasn't going to admit it, not even to himself.
Kyle was a handsome boy, Caucasian with short blond hair and hazel eyes he, enjoyed wholesome features that made him somewhat distracting to look at. One glance and girls and boys alike would be given slight pause as they reasoned out how easily he could be smiling and dancing about on a television commercial for back-to-school clothes. He was slim in an decidedly athletic way and, if you were lucky enough to see him with his shirt off, you could count the ripples chiseled into his abdomen. Though he was the right height and had a svelte build for his fifteen years, his boyish face made him look somewhat younger.
Up in the shack and with the afternoon sun at its highest point, Kyle had long since abandoned the jungle green camo shirt and the t-shirt underneath leaving him in only his military fatigue pants and black leather hiking boots. Large beads of sweat glistened on his completely smooth torso though, even from a short distance you could see the dark shadow of growth of black hair under each arm. Kyle hadn't developed early necessarily, it's just when he did get auxiliary hair it came in fast and full. His pubic bush was just as dark and thick, certainly much more so than the boy masturbating below him, and he found it somewhat odd to have no real hair anywhere else on his body, but in those placed he did, it was lush and visually outstanding.
Kyle adjusted first the rifle's tripod resting on the ledge of the open window so he could see better and then the position of his penis pressing against the cotton fabric of his tighty whitey underwear. There was really no stopping it now, he was about to get throbbing rock hard and the hormones plus adrenaline coursing through his veins wasn't allowing him to think reasonably. Almost unconsciously his left hand drops down and begins to fumble with the green plastic buttons on the fly of his pants. Seconds later he stands slightly bent over at the widow, camos down around his ankles, underwear at his knees.
Past the point of no return Kyle's hand feels its way into the forest of tangled black curls before finding the thick, leftward curved shaft of his cleanly cut penis. Nearly seven inches and length, considerable for a boy his age, he slides his hand forward to get a dribble of precum onto his fingers. Working it over the glans, he tries to spread his knees further apart in an effort to allow his aching balls to swing back and forth freely when he does begin to grip and stroke. Usually he spits and jacks or lubes up first, but with him leaking like a faulty water hose, there is enough for this action and then some.
Kyle makes a quick adjustment on his rife scope, watching closely as both of Carl's hands work feverishly to bring himself off. Even from this distance the 14x50 power lens makes it appear as if he too is down there on the rocks, right next to the publicly available masturbator. Unnaturally, two disconnected thoughts come to Kyle as he tries to match the younger boy's stroking rhythm. First, he comes to the shocking realization that he wishes he too was doing this out in public. Not necessarily with the boy, but he's not exactly sure he wouldn't mind that either. Not to watch really, just to do it where others might be watching him, maybe even the other kid looking over at him occasionally, And, if that wasn't out of character enough, Kyle is making an effort to study the other boy's technique. He knew all of his friends jacked hard and heavy, everyone talked an awful lot about it, but none of his close friends had ever compared notes, nor had he ever really thought about it. This wasn't really a sexual thought, it was more... in the interest of research.
And that was when poor Kyle could hold off no longer. It was just too much of a sensory exploration. Kyle, through clenched teeth, groans softly as he feels the buildup tenses and then begins an un-apologetic and messy orgasm. Copious ropes of thick white jizz squirt out, splattering against the wall under the sill of the window. He wanted this to last longer, to hold off, maybe even cum when the other boy started to shoot, but the release arrived without warning and had an unexpected in intensity to it. Not wanting it to end, Kyle uses the slippery residue of his climax to continue rubbing himself even after the forceful eruptions had subsided.
Suddenly, through the fog of post orgasmic glory, Kyle sees a flash of white cut across his circular field of vision through the telescopic view. Pulling his head back from the scope he peers down at the rocks below. The realization hits him like a brick to the forehead. While he and the kid were enjoying a solitary yet mutual jerk, they had both been caught unaware. Someone, no, two someones have entered the plant and are now standing on either side of the rock which Carl is on.
CUT TO:
Carl snaps his eyes open while grabbing for the knife still in its sheath on his gun belt less than a foot away. The process was somewhat slower than it should have been as he still needed one hand to try and cover what he could of his engorged reveals. Too surprised to be mortified at being caught in such an embarrassing position, his desire to stay alive was still tempered by modesty.
"Well would you looky here!" The male voice said with what could only be a sort of joyful taunting. "Angel, we done found us a sawed-off little pervert pulling his wiener right out here in front of god and anyone else willing to walk by."
Carl, with knife in hand looked to his right and saw the interloper, a man of about twenty five or so. He was tall, lanky and looked in serious need of both a dentist and a bath. If he wasn't going to shave the uneven patch of stash and beard, he ought to at least fashion it into some sort of goatee. He was wearing ragged jeans and a shirt two sizes too big which, in effect, made him look even more gaunt. To Carl's first impression, he actually looked like a walker, this one able to talk.
A high pitched and tittering female laugh comes from the other side of the rock. "We sure did and if that aint a small pecker for a boy of any age! Give it up sonny, you're in trouble with any gal you hook up with and that's certain. In your particular case, size do matter!
Both the man and woman explode in laughter at Carl's expense. He can't believe this has happened. Not only did he get caught masturbating, he let his guard down in the process. He hazards a quick glance over at the woman, keeping the knife between himself and the man down on the ground below. Not that either is a real threat as of yet, but from this perch above he can't see their hands. Hopefully they don't have guns. His brain goes into overdrive looking for avenues of escape, with or without his clothes.
The woman, Angel, gives the naked boy a smirk and nods her head in his direction. "He's got himself a knife Dwayne." She pronounces it Dee-Wayne.
The man's attitude darkens somewhat. "I can see that. Yes, he has a knife." Dwayne is annoyed. Angel always talks to him like he aint got no sense at all. He raises his right hand slowly and as it comes into view Carl sees the chrome-plated, six shot, snub-nosed revolver.
Carl sucks in a breath as he estimates the distance between him Dwayne. If he's going to act, it has to be now.
"I see it in yer eyes boy. Don't you test me none. I'll shoot you stone dead and that's the fact of it. You just set still and answer a few questions and we just might leave you be."
"Tell him to put that knife down." Angel instructs. Sometimes Dwayne forgets the most important things and if it weren't for her they would both be the worse off. "And don't give him his clothes just yet. He aint' gonna run off stark naked."
Dwayne rolls his eyes. Typical Angel. "Don't you be tellin' me!" To Carl: "You just put that sticker down and hop your ass off that rock. We're gonna have us a talk."
"My clothes," Carl demands. It wasn't a question or a request.
Dwayne regards the boy for a moment, wondering if he shoot a bullet at him, just to make his point. "You do as your told and maybe I'll give you them there clothes back. Or, if you continue to be obstinate, I may give considerable thought to settin' fire to 'em."
Angel speaks up again. We know who really runs the show. "Get down, kid. You can put your unders back on, but not the rest. Not till you answer a few questions."
Carl, still unwilling to move, takes a deep breath. Something is better than nothing, but he doesn't want to give up the high ground. At least up here he had some distance and... Without warning Dwayne fires his gun.
Dwayne had come up with the bright idea that by firing his gun at the boy's feet, it would scare the kid enough to get him to come down. As it turned out it wasn't a "bright idea" at all, but it would be his last idea. Before the echo of his shot could stop ringing across the water Dwayne's head explodes in a bloody mass of bone, scraggly hair and brain matter. The .50 caliber round from Kyle's sniper rifle struck with textbook precision, just below the tip of his nose. The supersonic speed of the round caused the man's head to envelope inward and then out again, all without knocking him off his feet. It took a full two seconds for his headless corpse to realize he was dead and finally fall to the ground.
Eyes wide in incomprehensible shock, Angel swings her shotgun up, first to Carl and then realizing the boy couldn't have shot "her man", someone else had to be close by. She spins and begins to fire blindly in various directions. Jacking each new shell into the pump-action Winchester Defender, she fires the fifth round before she too joins Dwayne as a gory, headless body lying at the base of Masturbation Rock.
Kyle looks up from the site searches for his charge and prospect. Carl is no longer atop the rock, instead he is lying on the ground, writhing about, both hands covering his face. There is blood seeping between his fingers. The boy sniper springs into action. Turning, he snatches at a load bearing harness that is hanging from the back of an old wooden chair. Aside from a holstered pistol, k-bar knife and several clips of ammo, there is a small black walkie-talkie with an odd shaped antennae. Extracting the corded microphone from harness he keys the radio to life..
Calm and measured Kyle speaks into the radio as he moves about the room collecting his gear. "Ranger-1 declaring. Request hot evac, immediate. Two hostile down, one prospect injured. Over.
Almost immediately a female voice comes back to him over the comm net. While clipped and professional, this voice is full of intensity and tension. "Ranger-1, copy hot evac, we're spinning up now. Say your status. Over."
Kyle continues to load himself up. He has put on both t-shirt and uniform camo as well as the gear harness. He has slung his Barrett over his left should and over his right another rifle, this one a shortened version of the M16. He grabs a green canvas army tote by its handles and yanks open the door, speaking into the mic as he goes. "I'm okay Olivia. Get me evac with a med-tech now. I have a prospect down and bleeding. Both of my hostiles are off the field, unknown if I have additional on the way to my location."
Kyle pushes through the door to the shack and, going to the metal rung ladder tosses his army tote down to the first conveyor level. He then begins to climb down from his nest, the rifles clattering together in his haste. The radio once again comes to life. The female's voice, known as Olivia is less strained. "Copy Ranger-1. Hot evac en route will advise ETA."
Bag in hand Kyle makes quick work of the rung ladder and is now sprinting across one convey belt and, in a mighty leap, jumps down to the next one below. He then works a zig-zag as he cuts back to get to the gentle slope of the last conveyor, this one taking him right to the water's edge. In less than a minute thirty he has descended from the control shack and is now running full steam toward the rocks. He can see that the boys is still moving... and there is more blood. His neck and upper chest are streaked bright red.
CUT TO:
As Kyle gets closer, Carl hears his boots pounding the hard-packed earth. Still covering his face he begins to kick wildly in the direction of the footfalls. There is panic in his high-pitch. "Get away from me! Get away!"
Kyle comes to a stop a few feet away, drop the tote and works to unsling both of his rifles. He lets them drop easily to the ground. Next he takes a quick survey of the surrounding area to make sure no one else has shown up. Apparently these two were on their own. He looks down again at the naked boy who is still kicking, but with much less venom though the boy continues to scream his demands.
"My friends are coming! Get away from me or I'll kill you! They'll kill you!"
Kyle goes to where Carl had laid out his clothes to dry and grabs the kid's shirt. He then runs back to the kicking and screaming boy, careful not to get clipped by his foot. He kneels down at Carl's side, at the same time picking up the knife he had dropped and tossing out of reach. "Listen to me. I am here to help. The man and woman are dead. I shot them."
Through his panic, Carl absorbs the stranger's words, but not before recognizing that whoever was speaking to him couldn't be much more than a teenager, most likely younger. A kid like himself. "Don't touch me! Go away!"
Kyle ignores him. "Take your hands away from your face. We need to stop the bleeding. I have your shirt and we are going to use that, put pressure on where ever you're hit."
Carl stops kicking and writhing about. He now begins to whimper in pain. Through his stifled sobs: "I can't see!"
Dread grabs Kyle by the stomach and pulls. He didn't realize the kid had been shot and now he questions his own actions. Could one of his rounds accidentally hit the boy? He didn't think so. Maybe the woman shot him with her shotgun and he had been to intent of lining up his second shot. He reaches down and grabs Carl's wrists and slowly pries the palms of his hands away. He immediately realizes what had happened.
When Dwayne fired his pistol, he had shot at Carl's feet. When the lead bullet hit stone a chip had flown up in a ricochet and struck the boy in the face. Two chips of stone actually. One had cut across the boy's forehead, just above his right eye, the second was actually still lodged in his left eye. The reason Carl couldn't see out of his left was obvious the right eye was covered in blood from the seeping wound at his brow.
"Be still!" Kyle commanded. Carl did his best to hold position. Using the still damp shirt, Kyle goes about the process of wiping the blood from Carl's uninjured eye. "You are not blind. It's only blood. You got a pretty nasty cut above your right eye, but it's not serious. Can you see me?"
Carl becomes only slightly less terrified. He can see, he is not completely blind, but he knows there is substantial damage to his other eye. He is also able to confirm his suspicions. His rescuer is in fact another kid, a boy who can't be but a year older than himself. If he is telling the truth and really did kill the Dwayne and Angel, he must not have been with them. In the back of his mind he wonders where the boy came from.
"My friends are on the way. They will be able to help you. We have a medic who is going to be able to fix you up.
"I'm naked," Carl blurts out stating the obvious. Regardless of the pain and how scared he is, modesty now demands satisfaction.
"Yeah, I know," Kyle said. "Don't sweat it man. You aint got nothing I haven't see before, mostly on me. Once I cover your left eye I'll get your clothes. By the time they get here you'll be good. Okay?
Relief seeps over Carl's entire body like a warm blanket. He doesn't answer, but tries to nod his head.
The radio breaks the momentary silence. This time it is a male voice. In the background is a loud thrumming, a lage motor hard at work. "Ranger-1, Dragon. We are fifteen minutes out and cutting wind. Will come in hot. You have a prospect?" Over.
Kyle grabs the black radio mic and keys it twice. "Affirm. A thirteen year-old boy. Alone. He has in injury to his eye."
Carl feels the need to set the record straight. "I'm fourteen."
Kyle smiles and keys the mic again. "Correction, fourteen."
The female voice is back. Apparently there is more than one radio on the net. "Are you sure he's a boy?" Olive asks with a slight challenge of humor.
If only you knew the situation Kyle thinks to himself, more than a little embarrassed for both himself and the kid lying naked on the ground.. "Yes, I am sure he's a boy." He gets up and moves to the rocks picking up all of Carl's clothing, socks and shoes.
The male voce: "Ranger-1, Dragon. Is the eye injury a bite?"
"Negative Dragon. Bullet ricochet hit him."
A short pause then: "Did you fire at him?"
"Also negative Dragon. Prospect was cornered by two hostiles and they shot at him to scare him. I didn't know that at the time and couldn't wait. I had to take them out. They were alone. At least I think they were. No other bogies in sight."
"We copy. We'll be on-site in ten."
A third voice joins the conversation, this one is another female though because she too is speaking over the engine thrum, she must be a part of the rescue team.
"How bad is he bleeding?"
Kyle is in the process of getting Carl dressed. He thinks about how different this is from dressing his own kid, a girl barely a year old. "There is more blood from the cut on his forehead than the injured eye."
"Roger that. Is he conscious?"
"Affirm. He is awake, coherent, and doesn't appear to be in shock."
The female voice pauses for a moment then: "Keep him prone, hydrated and talking. Keep the wounds covered but do not apply direct pressure."
Needing both hands at this point, Kyle doesn't bother to say anything, instead he keys the microphone twice. Now that Carl has his underwear back on both boys are more comfortable and Kyle can slow down somewhat. In a way he is glad Dragon was further out. It would have been horrible to try and explain why the kid was butt-ass naked when they arrived. Minutes later Carl is fully dressed including his socks and shoes.
"Thank you," Carl says in little more than a whisper. He is looking up at Kyle with his good eye, trying to figure out why a kid like him is even here. And who were the voices on the radio? Why were they...
Suddenly the quiet of the afternoon is interrupted by a loud whomping sound. Carl's relief is short lived as panic sets in. Something is terribly wrong. It sounded like all of the conveyor belts or some giant machine inside the plant has come to life. Kyle sees the fear etched into the other boy's face.
Kyle points off into the distance. "No worries man. That's Dragon. It's all good now."
More than a little confused Carl turns his head slowly to look where Kyle is pointing. He couldn't have been more surprised. There, off in the distant sky is a very big and very loud military style helicopter cutting hard and fast through the breeze..
Kyle smiles as he watches Car's reaction of disbelief and wonder. "A fuckin' Dragon!"
FADE.