Date: Thu, 29 Nov 2001 18:49:19 +0000
From: Java Biscuit <javabiscuit@hotmail.com>
Subject: Boy in a Pink Box, chapter one

This is a story involving 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.

Feedback to javabiscuit@hotmail.com

Boy in a Pink Box ~ chapter one

by Biscuit

He was a dream come true that began as a nightmare. A little pretty boy
who showed up on our doorstep with his mom. Our new neighbors. My
dad started out gruff with them. He didn't like their house, the one that
looked like a giant pink box. He was like that about houses, being a
builder. He'd even gone to meetings in town to complain about the
design spoiling the look of our Cape Cod neighborhood. But faced with
the flustered young woman in tight fancy clothes, her funny English
accent, and the kid who was staring into our house like an owl, he
shifted gears from the rough, what-do-you-want tone, to his best
I'll-take-care-of-it voice. She had to make an emergency trip to Boston.

Summertime, I was thirteen years old and free as a bird until Gareth
showed up. Gareth, what kind of name is that? Weird name, for a weird
kid with a mother that looked like a fashion model and lived in a pink
box. I stared at him, caught between a kind of pressure in my chest,
thinking how cute he was, and a dread that somehow he was about to
royally fuck things up for me. I was king of the world in the summer;
me, my dad, my bike, my buddies and long, long hours of sunshine at
the beach. There were times I wished I had a mom around, but
mostly I was comfortable with just Dad. He was young, for a dad. I'd
figured out that he was just sixteen when I was born. We used to live
with Irene and Dave, my grandparents who lived two towns away. But
since I started school we'd been on our own in the house with his wood
workshop, in the little nieghborhood called Pinegrove. It was mostly
townies who shunned or couldn't afford the crowded waterfront.
But it was near enough to Oceanus for me to go to school there. That's
what Dad said was important. I kind of knew there were other reasons
he wanted to be close to Oceanus, reasons that Irene and David
rolled their eyes about.

So there was Gareth. A tiny, scrawny, ten year-old in a pair of stupid
looking yellow shorts and an ugly orange tee-shirt that said Orange
Crush.

"Don't worry about it," I heard my dad say, and my heart sank. Yet,
at the same time I felt a funny kind of excitement like I was getting
something I wanted without having to admit that I wanted it. I was
going to be stuck with the little owl. The way things are, I wouldn't
have given that kid the time of day if I hadn't been forced to. He was
just too little, and well, he was weird; too pretty with his long red
hair, and dressed funny.

My dad gave me a look that was half apology and half threat.

"Joey, Gareth is going to spend the day with us while his mom's in
Boston." He was holding the kid's hand. Too weird. My cereal, sitting
too long in the milk while all the talk went on at the door, was turning
to mush in the bowl in front of me. I pushed it away, letting the spoon
drop with a splash as I let out a groan. Dad gave me another look, one
that wrenched my gut. It was the man to man look. He does this thing
with his eyes that says, I'm your dad but I need your help, and it
makes me feel proud and grown up and pissed off, all at the same time,
because I know I can't turn him down.

"Okay," I said. Gareth's big green eyes were on me so hard I almost
blushed when I looked at him. God, he was an odd-looking thing. I
think that was the first time it hit me, a warm rush from the seat of
my pants straight up my dick. I stared down into my soggy cereal,
squirming a little as my crotch tingled. Damn! I heard my dad pull
a chair out from the table, asking the kid if he was hungry.

"I already ate breakfast, Mr. Davis," he piped up in an accent that
I'd only ever heard on TV. Just one more weird thing about him,
an accent that made him sound all formal. I stole a look at him and
was relieved that his big owl eyes were on my dad then instead of me.
Grateful that my cutoffs were baggy enough to hide my boner in all
the folds at my crotch I concentrated on forcing down the rest of my
cheerios while my dad asked him questions about living in London
and how long he and his mom had been in the states.

I could tell my dad was hooked. Maybe he thought Gareth was pretty,
too, I don't know. Maybe it was just the story of the kid being on his
own with his mom that got to him. They'd come to be with Gareth's
dad, who was American -- the architect who designed the pink box.
Didn't sound like that was working out too well seeing as how his
mom had taken off to see her lawyers. My dad didn't press for details.
Gareth made it sound romantic. His mom had met his dad on vacation
in Oceanus and he'd built the house for them here hoping to renew
the marriage after what Gareth described as, "ups and downs, you
know." The dad was supposed to show up later in the summer. I
figured Gareth's mom and dad were about to split up, but I sure
as hell wasn't going to say anything. My dick calmed down by the
time I finished eating but it wouldn't stay like that for long. Just being
around that kid made it twitchy.

Of course, Gareth didn't have a bike and I was just trying to figure
out if I could pedal all the way to the beach with him on the seat of
mine, when Terry showed up. He was my best buddy. I could see
him scowling all the way up the driveway, trying to figure out who
the hell Gareth was. Terry's a good guy. Big and easy going and I
saw him damn near every day of my life, between school and
hanging out all summer. I scowled when he did.

"What's that?" he pointed at Gareth, leaning off his bike on one
foot. He was giving the kid a squinty-eyed stare, but started to grin.
"Orange crush," he read off the tee-shirt.

I explained about the mom and the kid and being stuck for the
day and hoped for the best.

"You go on," I told him. "I'll hang around here, today, catch you
later."

"Well, what the fuck," Terry said, "load him up in front here."
He grinned, pointing at the basket on the front of his bike.

"You joking?"

"No man, come on. What do you weigh kid, ten pounds?"

I don't know exactly how to say what I felt picking him up in
my arms and putting him in Terry's bike basket. The picking him
up part felt really good, in fact, so good that I got hard again. He
was so little for a ten year-old, and most kids I knew would have
put up a big fuss over being picked up like a baby, but he
folded up in my arms and put his slinky little arm around my
neck like it was the most natural thing in the world. The part
where I set him down in front of Terry -- who looked at him like
he'd gotten a present -- gave me a sick, gut feeling of jealousy.
Gareth looked back over his shoulder at Terry like Little Red
Riding Hood might have looked at the Big Bad Wolf. Terry's
just a regular guy, on the big side and swarthy, good-looking,
I guess -- at least girls seem to think so. I think I was seeing
him differently, all of a sudden, seeing him leer at Gareth
like he was thinking about taking a big bite out of him. What
the fuck was he thinking of, looking at him like that? And why
did I feel like I was being cheated?

There was just something about Gareth that made you want him,
like a puppy or a kitten. I felt it. I think my dad felt it. I know
Terry felt it. You looked at him, in his funny clothes, with his
pale skin and bizarre red hair, and just when you thought you
had to laugh at him, or started thinking how weird he was, at the
same time you wanted to touch him, make him talk in his funny
accent, look at his big owly green eyes.

We had a stretch of beach we almost always hung out at. A town
beach that had big old slabs of broken concrete near the water
where we'd dry off. We swam in our shorts and let the sun dry
them out. There were other guys around, a few girls we knew.
The girls lost their minds over Gareth. Like we'd brought them a
doll to play with. Poor little guy didn't stand a chance. I kind of
gave up on keeping track of him after D'Arcy, Terry's sort-of
girlfriend, and her buddy Jen dragged him out into the water
with them.

Terry and I were nearly toasted on the concrete slab. We were
getting hungry and waiting for D'Arcy and Jen who'd gone to get
some chips and coke when I heard a howl and a squeal and saw
the little red head come shooting up out of the water about twenty
feet out. He splashed back down with a whoop and I don't even
remember taking off from the beach, only the heart pounding dive
through the murky bay water, and grabbing his skinny little body
up in my arms. He twined around me like a monkey and I walked
him back toward the beach.

"Fucker bit me!" he swore. Maybe a crab, I don't know. All I
know is my heart was hammering and so was his and all that long
candy-red hair of his was floating around us on the water. What's
more, his little dick was poking into my belly like a stubby piece
of wood and I was hard as a rock.

I stopped where I knew he could put his feet down but he wouldn't.
He was spooked. My God, I put my hands on his waist to try to
ease him off of me and I never felt anything as naked feeling as
touching his skin.

"There's nothing that bites here," I said. "Put your feet down."
I stuck my hands in his armpits to try to pry him off. Oh man,
it was warm in there even though he was cold, and so soft. The
truth is I didn't want him to let go of me. I didn't know what I
wanted but it involved feeling as much of him with as much of
me as I could, and a lot closer to my hard dick.

"I think I'm bleeding!" he said, twisting around so he still hung
on my neck but with his legs in front of me, sticking his little
foot up out of the water. No blood. I grabbed his ankle and looked.
I didn't see anything, but his wiggling brushed his hip against my
boner and that felt pretty damn good. That's when he fixed me in
a look with those big green eyes, like he knew I was turned on and
it was the best thing that ever happened to him, all breathless and
excited like some girl in a chick flick about to be kissed by Brad
Pitt. I almost shot my wad on the spot. Jesus. Too weird. I heaved
the little bastard. I think I panicked. He was shocked that I tossed
him and went flailing. He must have still been pretty scared about
touching his feet to the bottom because he made it to shore in a
frantic buzz through the water that got him up on the beach in
seconds. I ducked down and swam, my face burning and my cock
throbbing -- feeling like a jerk, but desperate to get rid of my
hardon and not think about the way he'd looked at me.

I came up to the pretty annoying sight of him wrapped in Terry's
towel, with my buddy examining his foot. I made a show of
ignoring them, stretching out, dripping, on the hot concrete and
closing my eyes.

"I think this toe's gonna have to come off," Terry said, and
growled and I looked in time to see him bite the kid's foot! Jesus!
Gareth laughed and tugged his foot away.

"Leave off, you bastard," Gareth said, giggling, and I remember
thinking that he even had a cute way of cursing. Terry grabbed
it back and started tickling him, sending him into a frenzy of
gasping laughter and squirming that ended with him being wrestled
into Terry's lap. I could not believe my eyes. Fuck it all, I was so
jealous I could hardly see straight. Gareth crawled off of Terry,
and walked deliberately right across me on his hands and knees to
stretch out on the other side of me. Too weird for words. I felt
like the kid just let us both know that he'd chosen me. And I saw
the taunt in my friend Terry's eyes, looking at him, across me,
as if he was saying -- you're making a big mistake.

Like he was a girl we were fighting over. Only he wasn't one, and
we never fought over girls. Terry had a girlfriend. D'arcy. I didn't
though sometimes I sort of paired up with Jen who was okay. She
once asked me if she could kiss me and I said all right. I think even
then, she was more interested in D'Arcy than me and that suited me
just fine. Terry and I made jokes about girls, even D'Arcy. We said
the stuff guys say, I guess, about what we'd do to them or whatever,
but if I'd thought about it, I'd have realized we did that mostly
around other guys, at school, not between the two of us.

Gareth had chosen me. I pretended like nothing had happened, like
I didn't care. But the whole rest of the afternoon I was conscious of
him, sneaking looks at him, thinking about how I'd like to be alone
with him but not really sure why. My dad showed up at the beach
in his truck and saved me from having to see Gareth perched in
front of the handlebars of Terry's bike with his little legs dangling
out of the basket again. Dad had come in town to do errands and
cruised to the beach to see if we wanted a ride home. I acted all
reluctant about taking the ride but the pipsqueak jumped at it, so
I went along, inwardly smug as hell. Terry shot me a look, but
what could he say, he was being left behind with his girlfriend
and couldn't say shit about it.

The kid was glowing pink from the sun. It really came out in the
shower. My dad sent us off to wash off the salt and told me to
dump some cream rinse on the kid's hair. I guess it was pretty
tangled up from swimming. What a sight he was, all naked, wet
and soapy and pink, with a two-inch hardon that looked more like
a toy prick than a real one. I don't think my cock was ever that
small. Little or no, like everything about him, it fascinated me.
My cock was so hard it was hurting and when his big eyes fastened
on it I panicked again. I turned my back and shut off the hot water,
letting the cold blast right down the front of me. It was the only
defense I could think of and sure enough it shriveled my dick right
up. Fuck! He yelped behind me where the spray got past and hit him.
Quick before I froze to death I turned the warm water back on. I
was shivering but grinning when I turned back around to look at
him. Then I lost it, and the blood rushed right back to my dick
when I saw him standing there with big sad puppy eyes and his
arms wrapped around himself. Christ, what a pout! It made me
feel like shit and at the same time like I had to touch him.

"Come here," I said. I put my hands on his shoulders and pulled
him up against me, feeling the warmth of the water on both of us
and his little sunburn like a glowing heat in my hands. He leaned
into me until he was all over me, from his face on my chest to his
little stick jammed against my thigh. Oh Jesus, it felt so fucking
good! His arms were slithering on my back and he wiggled his
stomach against my hard dick, rubbing himself on my leg at the
same time.

"Joey," he said, "I want to be your boy, okay?" I didn't say a word,
I couldn't. I could hardly breathe. I reached down and grabbed his
little round butt cheeks, practically lifting him off his feet, and
started ramming my dick at his stomach like I could fuck a hole
into him. I think I came in about two seconds, completely out
of control. I shot off all over us, creaming his belly, my chest; it
even hit his face. Gareth made this unbelievable gasping sound and
started slurping it off me. My eyes were bugged out and I thought
I'd die seeing him licking my spunk right off my chest. The feel
of his tongue was incredible. He clamped his legs around my thigh
and his head went back, looking up at me with his mouth open and
his lips all wet and I knew he was coming right then!

"Holy shit!" I hung on to him, my heart beating double time, the
rest of me like lead.

"Oh yeah ... was good," he muttered, and then he kind of laughed.
Did I mention his dimples? Two little crescents in his cheeks. I
must have been staring dumbly because he stopped smiling and
backed off a little, looking worried. "Joey?" I don't know if I shut
my eyes or the world just turned black. I turned around to feel the
water beat on me, to wash off. Jesus, what the hell had we just done?
I kept flashing on him licking it off me. "You mad?" I heard him ask.

"No," I grunted. I wasn't mad, I was stunned. How could I be mad?
I was the one that shot off in his face! "Jesus, no. Just ..." I stepped
out of the shower without looking at him, out the front of the
curtain, feeling like I had to find breathable air, "... get yourself
cleaned off, okay, and don't forget to put that stuff on your hair."
I started drying off, avoiding looking at myself in the mirror.
What the fuck had I done? So what if he wanted me to do it?

"Joey?" That voice. He pulled the curtain back, blinky owl eyes,
his hair dripping with stuff that looked like more spooge. "It's
just like a game, right? Don't be mad." Oh man, he was so
fucking cute. I was getting hard again just looking at him.

"I'm not mad, okay. Go on, the water's gonna get cold." I left
him in there and headed down the hall to my room, feeling like
the world had just changed into something I didn't recognize
anymore. My body, my house, my room, all of it the same but
different now that I'd squeezed a little naked kid in my arms and
felt the Fourth of July take off from my balls. Scary as hell,
but a good scary, like magic, or a freaky movie you can't look
away from.

Where we live, with all the pine trees, its cooler than in town.
You can sweat your ass off at the beach and then go home
where its shady and have to put on a shirt. I hustled into my
clothes, angling my swollen dick into my underwear and quick
into a pair of jeans, not wanting to be naked with Gareth again.
I mean I wanted it, but I didn't. Then I realized the kid wouldn't
have a damn dry thing to put on but his Orange Crush tee-shirt.
His yellow shorts were still damp and all funky with salt from
swimming in the bay. He walked into my room wearing them,
looking miserable.

"You can't wear those," I said. "Put them on the window sill to
dry. I'll find you something." I scrounged through my closet
for a box that had old stuff of mine I'd grown out of. I found
him a pair of jeans. They were worn out and soft. I wasn't
going to watch him put them on but I couldn't help myself. He
was avoiding my eyes but not shy about standing there naked,
and there was that two-incher poking up his white belly. "Here
you go," I said, holding out the jeans, my turn to look away as
he took them from me.

"These are brilliant!" he said and I had to look, he sounded so
happy. All smiles again, hopping into my jeans like they were
the greatest things in the world. Baggy and hanging on his hips.
I got down and rolled up the cuffs, trying not to think about how
his toy cock was just inches from my face behind the soft denim.
I stared down at his feet as I folded up the cloth, so smooth, and
his toenails shiny like they'd been painted. I guiltily pinched his
big toe just because I couldn't help myself. How sick was that,
that I wanted to touch his feet? But he didn't notice. He was so
happy he tore off to look at himself in the mirror. Of course it
was too high for him to see, over the chest of drawers. So he
got up on my bed and was jumping up and down, dancing,
laughing at the sight of himself. His wet hair flew and he crowed.
My dad came to the door to see what was up and Gareth did a
spin, wiggling his hips.

"Look at me, Mr. Davis! I got jeans!" My dad and I gave each
other a look, both grinning -- who could help it. I don't think
either of us could believe that a pair of old jeans could make
somebody jump for joy, but then neither of us had been dressed
up by our moms in weird little yellow shorts. Part of me was
surprised my dad didn't yell at him for bouncing on the bed,
but, like I said, my dad was hooked. Who could yell at a kid
like that?

"I guess he likes them. What do you think, Joe?"

"Yeah, guess he does." Then, to my horror, Gareth bounced
off the bed and flung himself at me, throwing his arms around
my neck and his legs around my waist. I turned twenty shades
of red but I didn't have any choice but to catch him. Thank God,
my dad just laughed and didn't seem to notice how my dick shot
up like a dart to point at the wiggling butt I suddenly had in my
hands.

"I've got to make another run into town," Dad said. "Think you
and blue-jean boy can stay out of trouble for an hour or two?"

"Sure, Dad," I said, relieved beyond words that Gareth dropped
to his feet.

"Don't wander off. I'll bring back a pizza."