Date: Fri, 28 Dec 2001 04:21:37 +0000
From: Java Biscuit <javabiscuit@hotmail.com>
Subject: vancouver island, chapter three

This story involves teen/boy, teen/adult, male/male graphic
sex and is 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. This story is not meant to encourage
unsafe, unprotected sex.

Feedback to javabiscuit@hotmail.com


Vancouver Island ~ chapter three


by Biscuit


"That boy like you a whole lot," Armand said,
getting back into his overalls. "Tomorrow we go up
the trail. You and me. Today, I got me some things
to do."

I nodded, closing my eyes. With some food in me, not
to mention a shitload of drugs, the heat and scent of
sex still wreathed around me in my sleeping bag, I
didn't want to move, let alone climb a muddy trail up
the side of a cliff.

Armand hadn't been gone five minutes, when Yves
came back.

He slipped in quietly through the plastic at the
doorway, grinning when he saw my eyes open. I wasn't
surprised to see him. I knew he hadn't wanted to go
when his dad sent him away before. It sent a little rush
through me to be alone with him again, to know he'd
watched me with his dad.

I was as fascinated by Yves as he seemed to be by me.
His face. His bare arms and shoulders, with their boy
versions of his dad's muscles. I remembered the
glimpse I'd had of him naked and was getting aroused,
in spite of just being worked over by Armand. Armand
could do things to me, he was a skilled lover. But I
only had to look at Yves and I was there.

He pulled his cap off and hung it on the chair. He came
straight to the bed, planting his butt over the rim of
the shelf.

"I got my own ax," he told me, playing with the edge
of the cover. "I going to chop you some wood." Like
father, like son. I do a chore for you, you let me in that
sleeping bag. Yves's fingertips were stealing inside. I
trapped them with my hand which made him laugh.
Those lively little fingers squirmed in my grasp and
he tugged his hand back.

"You be tired, Jamie," he said, with such a theatrical
tilt of his head, I almost laughed at him. "Me too. I
don't sleep so much last night, thinking about you up
here and all. You being mad at Saguaro." What a
beautiful little liar he was.

"You're tired?" I said doubtfully. He nodded. I guess
I could blame it on the drugs, or whatever. God knows
I was fucked up in more ways than one. But I wanted
him and was more than willing to let him make up any
bullshit excuse he wanted to get close to me.

By saying nothing more, it was as good as saying
okay, hop in. Yves unhooked the tabs of his overalls
and the front flap dropped down. His chest was broad
for a boy of ten and his arms looked strong, all of him
a color like coffee with lots of cream in it. Seeing his
body, with that thick braid of hair hanging down his
bare back made my dick climb and the rest of me achy
to hold him. The little wood chopper cast a sidelong
glance at his effect on me and something between a
laugh and a sigh came out of him. He swung onto his
feet to let his pants drop down.

It was the twig off his dad's tree that was standing up
waving at me. I've known grown men with less than the
stout three inches popping up, uncut, from Yves's little
walnut balls. It matched the rest of him, small, solid and
beautiful. When he turned to hang his overalls on the
back of the chair he flashed his bare ass at me, round
sweet cheeks, with the tip of his long braid pointing at
the top of his crack. God, I wanted to fuck him, and I
swore to myself that I wouldn't, ever, don't, no way.

Armand once said to me that Yves was like his
mother. "He cock crazy and like to be cuddle."

I was in for a demo. He slipped into the sleeping bag
with me, next to me, still pretending to be sleepy. He
started out slow, trying to fake me out, as if he just
wanted under the cover like a cat looking for a warm
spot to nap. But he didn't hold still for a second,
kneeing me, an arm snaking out to hug me. This way
and that, always moving closer, his head knocking
against my chin and then burrowing onto my shoulder,
getting bolder and bolder. High octane cuddler, wide
awake and trying to find ways to rub his little boner
on me.

Part snuggle, part wrestle. I could only take so
much of him sliding his thigh across my hard dick
and jabbing me with that three inch prong. I took
hold of him and pulled him on top of me. For about
two tenths of a second he froze with surprise and
then his restless invasion became a full out attack.

Yves's body was smooth everywhere but the soles
of his feet; little, calloused icy-scratchpads rasping
at me as he tried to dig into position where he
wanted to hump me. He was panting, this low,
bizarre, almost cartoonish, sound that half made
me want to laugh and half made me want to flip
him over and bury six inches up his ass. Thank God
he was on top of me and not under me. My hands
clamped down on the warm butt I wished I was
fucking and I creamed his squirmy stomach, my
finger planted in the hot seam between his cheeks,
feeling his hips buck under my hand.

Yves popped off like he'd just been waiting to
slide around in it, puffing like a little train as he
gouged at me. Then he collapsed like he'd shot the
load he was soaking in. I held him still, no more
squirming, please God; my poor dick throbbing,
almost hurting by then.

"So," I said, when my heartbeat finally slowed
near normal. "I guess you were pretty tired."

He chuckled, a  submerged giggle on my chest.
Oh, he was good as gold then, docile and soft. For
about three minutes. I was drifting but felt him stir.
I think I was like a new toy to him, he didn't want
to sleep, he wanted to play. He went to find
something to clean us off with.

With the stove loaded and burning steady the
shack wasn't too bad, warm enough in spite of the
drafts when the rain gusted. Yves had uncovered
me to wipe off my stomach with one of his mom's
threadbare tea towels.

"You want a smoke?" he asked me.

"Why, you got one?"

"I could roll it, I'm good. Armand say it's good
to smoke after." Jesus. What a bizarre sight to
see him at the funky little table, fishing the
makings of a cigarette out of the stash Armand
left me. Nobody on the beach smoked tailor-made
cigarettes. They all rolled this moist, loose tobacco.
Yves rolled up a fat smoke. He lit it and brought
it to me in bed. Louis Quatorze, for sure.

It was another world. I lay there sprawled out
with my smoke and let him look his fill at me,
planted like a slim little buddha between my legs. I
was wondering what on earth I thought I was doing
with this kid, wondering if I really would leave the
next day. Say good bye to him. Yves combed my
pubic hair with his fingertips, and felt all around
my balls. He lifted up the soft shaft and wrapped
his deft fingers around it, getting down close to
inspect the circumcised head.

"You got a pretty dick, Jamie. I like to see this,"
he said, smoothing the crown with the soft pad of
his finger. It was kind of like being ten years old
again, remembering the first time a buddy and I
had taken a good look at each other. But neither of
us had Yves's passion for what we were looking at.
When he bent forward and stuck his pink tongue
out, rolling it around the head of my dick, I
started getting hard again.

"I do that before," he said. "One time a boy came
here with his mother and stay. We do it, but I
don't like it so much with him."

He licked his lips, wetting them with a slick of spit
and rubbed me back and forth across them in the
little saliva stream. My dick spit its own silvery
stream and he licked it and grinned at me. "Not a
nice boy like you," he said with such wistful
pleasure, I didn't know what felt better, his mouth
or his foolish, foolish sweetness.

Oh yeah, nice, I thought, that's me. What I was
doing with him fit right in with all the other nice
things about me; world's nicest fucked up cock
sucking faggot dropout.

It didn't matter what I thought just then. What he
thought had gotten to me. God only knows what
inspired Yves's crush but I was eating it up, even
knowing I didn't deserve it. It was as impossible to
resist as his playful, hot mouth and little raccoon
fingers. He coaxed a load out of me that felt like it
boiled up from China. And the little bugger was
jerking himself off at the same time. I looked down
and saw his face all screwed up as he came with my
spunk shining on his lips and that was it. I wasn't
going anywhere the next day, or the day after that,
and I knew it.


Armand showed up before dawn. He lit the stove,
the sound waking me and Yves, who was sleepy
and cuddled up for real. Armand was taking me
up the trail, but not to leave, to go into town with
him to get supplies.

I'd spent the rest of the day before, exploring
the beach with Yves, learning to chop wood,
among other things. Sarah had fed me dinner.
Armand and I had smoked a few bowls while he
spun his tales and then Yves had followed me back
to my shack, where he would spend every night
for the rest of the summer.


Never again would I blow a trucker, just for a
ride. Armand put a stop to that. The guy who
pulled over for us at the top of the trail gave me
a grin and rubbed his hand along the inside of
his thigh.

Armand just laughed at him, "Fifty dollar, my
friend, you want this boy sweet mouth. Else you
can just feel his warm butt sit next to you and be
dreaming."

"You're crazy," the guy said, looking me over,
not pulling away. Armand swatted my ass and I
climbed up into the cab, with him right behind
me. One way or another this guy was giving us
a ride. He had a major snake in his pants and he
kept rubbing his leg against me.

As soon as we headed inland from the beach
the sun was out strong and it was a hot summer
day. I felt good sitting there, watching the trees
roll by. I was thinking about Yves and kind of
hoping the guy was going to break down and
ask me to do him, thinking about the money and
bringing a present for the kid. I guess Armand
was right about him sitting there next to me
dreaming. Half way to town he started rubbing
his dick, asking me if I was any good. Oh yeah.

I blew the guy. Armand gave me half the money.

We were in the city an hour later. Victoria.
It's like the world's neatest, cleanest little city.
Flowers everywhere. You wouldn't think a
place like that had any seamy side to it, but
Armand knew it. We started out with a visit to
his biker pals, where he traded mushrooms for
weed and hash, and we got stoned out of our
gourds. Then we went to the Salvation Army, to
the Krishna temple. Every stop our packs got
heavier.

We checked out the big trash dumpsters at the
grocery stores. I got inside and tossed stuff out
to him. I think we scored a half dozen bunches
of bananas, and a shitload of celery and potatoes.
Weird shit, but Sarah would turn it into gold.
Armand took me to a food coop where he traded
weed for food with one of the cashiers.

We crashed that night with the bikers. I passed
out on a sprung old couch still hearing Armand
spinning his crazy tales with his drunk buddies.

Yves was half out of his mind when we got home
in the middle of the next day, excited to see what
we brought and rabid for attention.

Sarah was fussing over all the stuff and Yves was
climbing on me. He'd swung astride my lap and
was harassing me with pokes and pinches.

"You come back, eh? I think maybe you see
some cute boy like Saguaro and don't come."

Saguaro would always loom as his great rival.
He thought I loved him because I'd been so upset
when I found out about Pierre.

"You bring me something, yes?" he demanded.
He found his present in my shirt pocket. It was
a leather cord necklace with some little beads
on it. I wish I could say I'd picked it out for
him, but it was Armand.

Armand had traded for two of them from one
of the girls hanging out where we crashed. He'd
put one around my neck, and stuck the other
one in my pocket.

"You bring that to the boy. He love it." I saw him
watching Yves beg me to put it on him. Armand
knew his boy, all right. When Yves saw the one
around my neck and realized that the two of them
matched, his eyes glazed and he melted like a hot
marshmallow in my arms. Armand's eyes said,
I told you so, and mine said, oh God, I'm gonna
come in my pants. At least they would have said
that if I hadn't shut them and hidden my face in
Yves's hair.