Date: Mon, 04 Feb 2002 15:50:51 +0000
From: Java Biscuit <javabiscuit@hotmail.com>
Subject: Back to the Playground, 8

This is a story involving boy/boy, teen/boy, male/male
graphic sex and not intended for reading by minors. If
you are underage, or this type of material is illegal where
you live, please stop now, and go read something else!

This is a completely fantasized story meant only for the
purpose of pleasurable reading. It explores themes which
some readers may find offensive or disturbing. It's not
meant to encourage unsafe, unprotected sex, or to
condone sex with minors.


Feedback: javabiscuit@hotmail.com


Back to the Playground ~ chapter eight


by Biscuit


I never had the sense that I was a woman trapped
in a man's body, but I did get the feeling, at times,
that I was born under the sign of housewife and
mother.

Of course, my shrink thought I was taking on the
role of my mom, and projecting myself onto Skyler.
I guess it's all about Freud for a shrink, no matter
what, it always turns out you're fucking your
mother.

All I know is that my life revolved around Skyler.
A precarious limb to build a nest on, maybe, but it
never felt that way. Nothing felt as solid as he did.

There were other things contributing to me pulling
my life together. I'm sure my psychiatrist would
think he deserves some credit. I once heard my
sister-in-law Helen tell a friend of hers that she'd
given me a nurturing home, something a troubled
boy needed. Yeah, right. I felt that my brother
Karl was more help to me in being steady. Even
though I thought he was pretty cowed, all right, the
term is pussy whipped, by Helen, he was at least a
sympathetic presence. Even if we never got to the
point where we talked about stuff, we had a way of
meeting eyes that gave us a connection, banding
together quietly.

Really, it was Skyler that my life coalesced around.
I felt as sure of him as the sun coming up. I know
that it wasn't the smartest thing in the world to do,
pinning so much on a little boy, but I did it anyway.
Hard not to trust in the steadiness of a kid who every
year, on his birthday, reminded me how much closer
we were to our wedding day. I thought it was a joke,
but the kind that was part of what made me feel like
I could count on him. I knew he was counting on me.

Unlikely as it was, there we were, me twenty-one
years old, and Skyler turning fourteen. His cake,
which I'd baked -- something I was getting pretty
good at by then -- was ravaged on a plate next to
my bed, and Skyler, before blowing out the candles
had held four fingers in the air, to show how many
years were left until we were husband and whatever.

I was still living in my small studio apartment. I
could afford to move at that point, I had the money,
but I didn't feel any need to make a change. Skyler
was, by then, enrolled in the same high school for
genius boys that Trent had gone to. Trent and Daryl
were still downstairs, but not for much longer. As
soon as Trent finished up graduate school at the
end of that year, they were planning to be on their
way.

Skyler was only a year younger than I'd been when
I picked him up in the playground and carried him
in his wet shorts. He was nearly as tall as I was by
then, which I'll admit was not very, but he would
keep growing, overtaking me by several inches.

In my seriously overheated apartment, there were
times in winter you had no choice but to open the
windows to be able to breathe. Not the best heat
engineering, but nice for gazing at your lover's
naked body on a crisp autumn night. For Trent
and Daryl to stay warm, my place ended up pretty
steamy. Skyler had his shirt off and his pants open;
his feet were bare. He was making me crazy by
leaving his jeans on, unbuttoned so I could get
glimpses of what he wasn't giving me yet, hard
inside his boxers.

Skyler's broad smooth chest was still tan from
summer. For a blond, he had a dark complexion.
His hair had darkened over the years to a honey
color with lighter strands mixed in. At that time it
was part shaved and part long. For me, it made no
difference how he had his hair. Every look suited
his face, as far as I could see, either emphasizing
his strong cheekbones, or bringing out his big dark
blue eyes.

He hadn't quite outgrown the prettiness of his
childhood. His features were too strong to be called
pretty, and too pretty to be called handsome yet. I
could well believe that girls had begun to fling
themselves at him in droves. He didn't say so, but
he didn't have to. I'd walked down the street with
him.

Hard to believe that at fourteen, he'd been having
sex with me, in one way, shape or form, for more
than six years. But only that year had we started to
fuck, for real. I'd given over the drilling rights to
him years before, the keys to the kingdom, what
ever you want to call it. I did that the day I'd got
naked and stopped controlling what he could or
couldn't do with me. That was the main thing for
me, leaving it up to him.

He was, however, pretty quick to figure out what
I liked. I'd be deluding myself if I thought that
what I wanted didn't play a big part in his choices.
He was a very smart boy and had been reading me
for years. I'm sure it was a combination of him
being ready and me being rabid to fuck him.

I was so ready. I'll admit it. I loved everything
that we did together but at thirteen Skyler had a
butt on him that would have tempted a dead man.
I'm sure I had my finger up him, my tongue --
not something new -- but, with more passion than
ever before.

So much went on in that genius head of his. For
Skyler, it wasn't so much that he wanted it, as that
he thought he was ready to tolerate it. My very
thoughtful boy had decided, his idea -- not mine,
he didn't even tell me about it until afterwards,
that it would be unfair for him to fuck me, which
he was dying to do, until he was willing to have it
done to him. He knew I'd let him. Just like I knew
he'd let me. Both of us had our own reasons for
holding back. I'm not disappointed with how it
worked out.

It still makes me grin to remember the first time.
I was in such a sweat over not hurting him, and he
was so anxious. At the point he realized he was
liking it, and I realized he was liking it, we barely
got a taste of just how good it was before it was
over. I saw his sweaty face transformed, a ripple of
pleasure passing through him, his eyes nearly closed,
his mouth open, and it was all over for me. The
moment I let go the concentration I'd mustered to
go slow, to monitor every wince, every flush, and
saw that I'd made it good for him, I totally lost it.
It was too good for me, way too good for me. I
jammed my cock between his spread cheeks and I
was coming so hard you'd think I was aiming to
bust the condom and give the boy a baby.

My shooting off, just when it started getting good
for him, didn't dent Skyler's happiness. My hot
young scientist gave me about three minutes to
recover before he plowed into me, to experience
the flip side.

By the time his fourteenth birthday arrived, we
were getting pretty good at it.

I was bare assed naked. The only scrap of cloth
left on me was the tie in my hair. Skyler did have
a preference when it came to how I wore it. He
liked it long. I hadn't cut my hair in six years,
except to trim the fucked up ends. I accused him
of having some kind of Willie Nelson fetish. He
claimed it was a Rapunzel thing.

He was undoing my braid, which kind of bugged
me a little, since it would be all over the place; it
was almost down to my waist by then. But I didn't
even think about stopping him, what the fuck, it
was his birthday. Anyway, he was taking apart the
braid when he dropped the bomb on me.

"Brandy, I'm going to tell my mom about us," he
said.

"You're what?" I twisted around to look at him. I
had to see his face to believe what he was saying.

"Art's asked her to marry him," he said, looking
up, still fussing with the braid. He was sitting, still
infuriatingly half dressed, behind me. Maybe that's
why he hadn't taken his pants off. Not to tease me,
just to slow me down so he could say what he had
to say. I just stared at him, wondering what the
one thing had to do with the other.

"So," I said, blood pressure rising, "you knew that
might be coming."

"He's being transferred out west. She's already
looking at schools out in California for me."

"Sky," I said, trying to absorb it, "this year? Next
year?"

"Next year, I think. I'm not sure." He'd stopped
doing anything but holding my hair in his hands,
looking at me with that bottom lip thrust out in
it's heavy thought pout.

"Telling her stuff isn't going to fix it. Jesus. What
if you just said you really like this school and that
you could stay here with me?"

"Already did that," he admitted. "She said I've
already cramped your life enough. I have, haven't
I?"

"What are you, nuts?" He smiled then, a little.
Every once in a while he'd zing me with something
like that, just to hear me say it wasn't true. What a
screwed up thing. "She only says that because she
doesn't know. Believe me, it's not my love life she's
worried about. She thinks I'd be out partying or
something, not really taking care of you."

"Right, because she doesn't know. But if she did
know, she'd understand why I can't go."

"Wrong," I said. He was scaring me. Nobody knew
and that's how I wanted it to stay. Daryl and Trent
teased me wickedly about Skyler having a crush on
me but I'd just nod and say, maybe, yeah. I couldn't
see any advantage to people knowing, only threat.

"It would kill her if she knew," I said, but what I
really meant was that she'd kill me.

"We'll see," he said.

"Sky, no. Swear you're not going to tell her. She'd
never let me near you again."

"Brandy, I'm not a little kid any more. I'm not
going to tell her everything. Just about now, how
it is now."

I couldn't believe he was saying something so
crazy. I tugged my hair away from him, getting up
from the bed. I felt a panic coming on and whipped
around, mid pace, to confront him. I had to make
him understand just how dangerous it was.

"If you tell her, she'll have me arrested and whip
you out to the west coast so fucking fast you won't
know what hit you."

I found the shirt I'd taken off and started putting
it back on, feeling much too naked for this kind of
talk. The shirt tails covered me up to mid thigh,
decent, but not altogether innocent enough for what
happened next.

Daryl and Trent never came into my apartment
without knocking. I never walked in on them, even
though half the time one of them came up, I'd just
yell out, come in and they'd do the same. I never
bothered to lock the inside door, and they didn't
lock the landing door that lead to my stairs, since
we were the only people there in that building.

This time was no different, Daryl knocked, but the
door must not have been closed all the way, because
the force of his knock swung it open. And there I
was with my unbuttoned shirt wrapped around me,
my hair half undone, and Sky on my bed with his
pants open.

"Uh, sorry guys. Trent sent me up to return your
soup pot. Great soup by the way."

"Thanks," I said, trying to ignore the flaming heat
in my face. I started to reach out to take it from
him but it just set loose the flaps of the shirt I had
wrapped around me.

"I'll put it on the table," he said. Oh God. He had
his head down as he left, I couldn't tell what his
expression was. I knew, however, that I wanted to
die. Uselessly, I locked the door behind him when
he left.

"Brandy," Skyler said, "Stop acting like it's the
end of the world. He was smiling, for Christ's sake.
He's probably thinking I'm about to get like the best
birthday present a guy could ever get. Come on. It's
my birthday. I promise I'm not going to run home
and spill my guts to my mom. I swear. Come here,"
he said. He shimmied out of his jeans, I had to look,
even though I was still shaky. Pretty powerful way
to persuade me, sliding those boxers down his hips.

Skyler, with a smile on his face, naked on my bed,
with his beautiful cock semi hard angling across his
lean thigh was a pretty strong draw. I was still jittery
but willing to let him soothe me. His promise not to
do anything rash helped a lot, though I wasn't
convinced that he didn't still think it was a good idea.
It was enough, for now, that he said he wouldn't  do
it. Even if it was only to keep me from having a
heart attack.

I managed to unwind my arms from the death grip
I had around my own ribs when I sat down on the
bed.

"Okay," I said. "Birthday boy."

"Know what I want?" he asked, stroking a broad
hand down his stomach. What beautiful hands; the
size of them showed how he'd keep growing. Long
fingered, sensitive, strong hands. He stroked his
cock, full out. Charlotte had actually once joked to
me that her son was hung like his dad. I think I
turned twenty shades of red when she said it. She
had laughed at me, saying she hadn't figured me
to be so shy. I had no idea what his dad was like,
but I knew someone, somewhere, had contributed
some mighty proportions to his gene pool. Hard to
picture the little kid who'd covered his whole tiny
package with one small hand, but so clearly the
same boy. It's not so surprising that I had a mother
thing going on, the way I'd watched him grow up.
Add incest to my crimes.

"What do you want?" I asked him.

"Your mouth, right here," he said, and both of us
knew it was his gift to me. Bright boy. That was
what I needed to bring me back into focus. For me,
the taste and feel of his flesh in my mouth was so
elemental. Purely selfish pleasure. I never thought
about making it good for him, making him come. I
just did what I wanted, to please myself, until he
came or he stopped me. If I mothered him with
birthday cakes and whatnot, he babied me when he
let me suck him. My mouth was watering before I
even got my lips around him.

My shrink thought my cocksucking was me trying
to consume the world, namely my parents. The
power of my dad's phallus through the breast of my
mother. Who knows? He still kept his lap covered
during our once a week session, but I swear to God,
I'd seen the sheaf of his notes tilting over his hard
dick more times than I could count.

The best part of sucking Skyler, my favorite part,
was the top few inches and the head of his dick in
my mouth. Like asparagus, I guess, the tip is the
most succulent part. I loved knowing the rest of it
was there to play with, but the smooth soft feel of
the head moving through my lips and over my
tongue, oozing precum like thin syrup, that's what I
loved most. On the other hand, I felt a certain surge
of lust at the point my mouth was full to overflowing
and his cock started down my throat. And when his
hips moved, fucking my mouth, it made my cock
swell like crazy.

I didn't complain that night when he stroked my
jaw, his signal for me to stop. I knew he wanted to
fuck me. By the time he stopped me from finishing
him off in my mouth, I was tenderized, wanting him
anywhere and everywhere and I was hard enough to
cut the Hope diamond.

His cock shone with spit in my hand, even his light
brown bush was saturated, his tight balls glistening
with it. In a way I didn't like to cover him with a
rubber. At the same time, putting it on him made
me hot, because I knew his sheathed dick was about
to be inside me.

So there I was, like he wanted me, Aphrodite on
the half shell with my loose hair, sporting a hard
rod. I got on my knees, over his hips, and fucked
him; only a tiny ribbon of fear still threading my
brain. What if I lost him?

Well I wouldn't, I couldn't, I thought; watching
his face, feeling my insides pulse around his cock.
Impossible that the nub of a dick he'd once poked
at my ribs was planted more than a half foot deep
to the root, up my ass, sending hot and cold chills
through me, making my dick leak a river. He was
far from passive under me. I could see his muscles
working. His breath pulled deep, his whole body in
motion as he thrust upward; big hands on my hips,
urging me up and down his thick cock.

When I felt I had to come or die, I poised over him,
my knees shaking with the strain, stroking myself,
forcing my dick down. I wanted to spray his sweaty
chest and belly. But Skyler was too close to the edge
to hold still for me, he bucked like his ass was on
fire and I had to grab him to hang on. I shot off like
a machine gun dropped mid fire, spraying bursts of
hot spunk skyward as he slammed up into me in the
short hard jerks he does when he comes.

It was the near dead helping the lame as I slowly
unfolded afterwards, with his hands supporting me.
I collapsed in the mussed sheets beside him.

"Don't worry," he said to me, curling his body,
temporarily spent, around me. I guess mine was
not only brain starting to whir with thought as
the blood headed northward in the ebb of coming.
"I don't think I'm going to California," he said.
"We'll figure something out."