Date: Fri, 23 Nov 2007 12:46:49 -0800 (PST) From: Tim Stillman Subject: g/m young friends "Another Bite of Chad" Another Bite of Chad By Timothy Stillman (For my friend, Jordan, this story is happily dedicated) Chad stood above Lansing, Michigan. He was free and the hills were tall and white. Huge sky of winter above him. The city down below--gone. Life--free. He breathed the cold still air and trundled nowhere. There were seasons in his cock now. He was 12 and his cock was bigger. He was naked to the world. What world there was left. After he and his friends and family finished sucking it, milking it, all the world of it, humans that is, dry. He felt strength in his arms and legs. His tan was even browner and crispier than ever. He was masturbating with a two-inch longer cock. He stood with his groin pushed outward. There was that sarcophagus expression on his face that had been mistakenly taken for an interior scholar, when all it was, was a reaching back through the corridors of time, to places. To other people, formerly of the late great Hal Lindsey planet Earth, Mr. Lindsey too was succumbed, he happily noted to himself, including times and places and characters people thought were fiction. Chad remembered Oliver Twist at the workhouse and later Mr. Sowerberry's coffin maker's. Little Oliver as the mute who walked in black garb at the front of funerals, always seemed to be in perpetual tears in Mr. Dickens' novel, but indeed, Chad remembered the boy as not being able to keep those workhouse clothes on, and was a little sex demon who taught Chad things the vampire boy had never even heard of in his hundreds, give or take an eon, of years before. How he loved little Oliver and had ring side seats with Oliver and Pip going at each other, their own special kind of boxing day, in which they circled the rings of their foreskins with each others' fingers and closed circle hands, and had a whack off or two or three or four to salvage the gone away of Dec. 25 Christmas Tree, for the lucky looker-oner and soon to be participant in the penis-a-cuffs, which would, of course, be Chad. He remembered the boy Shakespeare wrote his sonnets to. And how Shakes, as his friends called him, as Chad called him, though he was no friend of the somewhat coy, vitriolic, very wordy gentleman, challenged Chad to a duel over Henric, though of course Shakes had no idea the boy whose penis he was dueling with his tongue, was a vampire, but Chad let him live, so Shakes could write even more plays and poems, not because Chad thought he was any great--shakes--vampires must have their stupid, little puns as well--as a writer, just that the vampire boy know school children through the ages would be bored half to death being forced to read it, and Chad had a wicked, very, sense of humor. Who was that in the tank with Harry Houdini? And why would anyone think Christopher Robin was a made up character? And don't get Chad even hearing the mention of Peter Pan or the Lost Boys, either group you choose, literary or filmic. And now Chad owned this corner of the world. He possessed the greatest portion of America and found himself sad as he came, and now having attained cum finally and at long last--you try waiting seven or so hundred years till you can cum and see what a rocket express it is when you finally can--the stuff just poured galaxy like all over every which way. Chad screamed to the heavens and gave the heavens an almighty headache, and he fell to his knees---his body shaking and convulsing and muscles slamming hard against each other, stomach squiggling, balls so tight in the sac they almost went into hiding as they pumped and pumped. And then pumped some more. In vampire lore, it always has to be the humans who are milked for blood and semen. This has always been the case with the gay vampires, though Mr. Stoker left that part out and Ann Rice only got parts of it right, though there was on incredibly tempting part of her novel that--well, Chad, stand up and bow--it was involving you, though nobody, especially Ms. Rice, knew. No vampire had ever cum. Only human cattle were allowed. Women were taken care of by another branch of the family, though the bi vampires swung both ways happily enough. So as in the cold and snow ground and the snow sky and the snow clinging to his burning hot body, snow turning to water, Chad felt this supreme happiness inside him, felt a certain fulfillment that, though he would never attain adult hood, why can't you be both a cummer and a winner vampire at the same time? He had the feel of someone distantly aware; someone through a certain meeting that would exhaust anyone but the two of them. Thoughts of a river to cross, and a light at the end of that river. Snow scapes with the cool reflective studious eyes. Key, with the heart beat that sounded right to Chad's ears. Not in a book. But here and now. With his family against him now, Chad had to pick up right answers. And if they lay at the tip of his cock, with all that cum spurted downward on the hill, then it would have to be getting naked, truly naked, more than just flesh, which would mean getting mortal. And getting mortal was giving up, of course, immortality. If certain dubious integrities entered in, if Chad were to grow up, what red eyes would see him as the enemy? All, of course. They would hunt him and kill him. He knelt and cradled his cock. He knelt and cradled his balls. He knelt and felt a start of tears. Chad had never cried, not once, in his entire life. Chad was not forever. And neither was Key. Who was Key? A name. An enigma. A person. Real. More so than the vampire boy. Someone older than Chad. Someone who had walked sturdily away from people in the caves and the canyons in this newly vampire-reinvented world where wilderness was everywhere. And if Key was a mortal, how had he escaped? If Key were a mortal, how would Chad know his name and see his face and know there was depth and wisdom here, without laying eyes on him? To persist to touch out to a heart that beat differently, that had a different wisdom than Chad's, and if that wisdom was to be more than sexual, would Chad have any invitation needed, other than the need to turn round? As he did. And there was Key. Harvest home. Who stood there proudly, naked and fifteen. Naked and hard and somehow better than Chad. Somehow more worldly. Rubbing his hard on, secure, and unafraid of Chad. A certain hand reached, so tentatively, with such fear, out to Chad. Who drew back. Who was suddenly ashamed of his own nakedness. A bold hand of boy reached Chad's now body that was withered suddenly, that had no tan, a brain that fogged too easily. And Chad broke down. All the horrors that he had visited on mankind were now vanishing as Key reached down to Chad. Without fear. Without Chad's curtain of evil over himself. Something that was forever beyond reach. Something in Chad that was his, but would never be his really. A certain sanguine smile sequestered on Chad's suddenly chapped lips as he reached out a fragile hand to touch to the boy's penis that had a partial foreskin on it, that curved a bit at the top as it ascended almost six inch erection, from its hairy balls at the base, as Chad touched. As Chad had been used to touching. As Chad had roamed the night in his bat wings and silver sheen of disguise. Chad needed no one. He turned away. Let the boy's penis drop from his hand. The boy stood behind Chad. He said quietly, this Key, known as wise, known as human. "Try. Believe it. Try." And Chad knew what vampires were. And Chad knew what they had done to this place, this earth. Something valued had died in Chad. Something that needed Key's straddling his legs over the shoulders of Chad and pushing his dick into Chad's neck back. Waiting for Chad to come forth. Waiting for Chad to seal a moment. To not be a vampire any longer. To not suggest anything other than a season of not winter. A season of not snow. A season of Chad turning his back on his bloodsucker brethren. As Key reached his hands to the boy vampire's tits and squeezed them and pinched them as Chad reached to his own penis and began to stroke it, minimum size, compared to Key's. Something caught in Chad's heart as Key got off his neck and came round to the lip of the hill and stood close to Chad's face and said, "Go on, I trust you, suck me now." A voice of calm and wisdom and sanity. A voice that said, I am not afraid of you, for you are a child yourself, and if you take my penis into your mouth, you will not hurt me or bite blood out of me. Chad looked up at Key, and said, "I can't." The boy looked at him, his dark hair blowing in the Arctic cold which did not freeze him or give him goose pimples any more than it did Chad. Key looked at him with aesthetic face and eyes that poured into the vampire's soul. And the vampire felt his stomach drop a million stories, tales and legends and movies and books--he had a soul now. He had someone to--be with--but there were all those chances--there were all those doubts--and they were the crag and crevices larger than those of the moons times a million. Everything would be in doubt. The boy hid the last human survivors. They would start the species again. They would vanish the vampires, kill them. And Chad would take the chance of cutting himself; his finger, his skin, his conscience, and his soul, for those things were of him and in him for the first time ever. Chad would experience pain and hurt and rejection by anyone, by anyone at all, especially the ones he loved the most. And there, then, that word. Love. Laughed at by his leagues. Scoffed at and neck broken by his number. He looked at the boy. Not taller than the sun, which was a memory anyway. But close to the sun, as it used to be. Key looked at him. "I give you no promises. But I give you a chance. Come from the darkness. If you have the guts." Then he was walking away, his flanks beautiful in the snowy light, and Chad could not help but run after him. And they fell together in the snow and had sex and sucked each other's cock, and tongue kissed and Key wrapped his legs around Chad and they were one in the snowy dawn of everything of life all over again. Afterwards, after they had both been temporarily satiated, and lay sleepy in each other's arms, in the snow, naked and warm from the holding of, Chad asked, "will you give me any promises at all?" Key looked at him. "You've got some growing up to do, Chad." And he kissed Chad's nose tip. As they cuddled and drifted to sleep in their snowdrifts, Chad, warm against warm, asked, "Why the name, Key? Are you the key to yesterday or all those yesterdays ago?" Key, sleepily responded, "I am the key to today. To right this second. I am human, Chad. Tomorrow will come. Perhaps the sun will rise again after such a long time away. And that is a distance fine and filled with time all of its own." Chad smiled. They slept. This was the beginning of Day One, all over again. There was no blood this time, on either of the boys' lips.