Boy-writer

Joey's Saviors

Joey got beaten up again. This time, it wasn't his fault. He hadn't disrespected anybody or moved in on anybody's girl – Joey didn't have a girl. It was just that the 'blue' gang demanded that he give all his money to them, and he didn't have any, since he'd given it all to the 'red' gang earlier in the day.

It was his second month in the new school, and you might say that he hated it, except that what he felt was fear, not hate – from the moment he walked out of his cramped apartment in the morning till he walked back in in the afternoon.

Joey was not used to living like this. He had lived with his mom and dad in a nice house in the suburbs, until one day Dad decided that he preferred a pretty young woman to his middle-aged wife and 14-year-old son. The man disappeared like the morning mist, taking his substantial income with him, and Joey's mom had gone to work, getting the only job she could, cleaning hotel rooms. Naturally, she could not make the house payments on her new salary, so the bank foreclosed and they moved into the city where living was cheaper. As Joey had discovered, it was also much more dangerous.

He had tried to make friends at the new school, but it was very difficult. They thought he was 'stuck up.' Joey didn't think he was that at all and didn't know what they meant. He tried harder, and they pushed him away all the more. It had to be because he was white. Joey was one of a very few white kids at the school; the majority were black, the remainder mostly Hispanic, with some Asians, recent immigrants, thrown in. The Asians were quiet and Joey got along with them, but they didn't really accept him because he didn't speak their language (Chinese). The few whites hung out with the blacks and acted the same as they did – that is, very hostile to Joey. It was a horrifying way to enter high school.

The boy's schoolwork suffered, but nobody noticed, it seemed. He got straight 'A's,' which made the other students hate him more. In that school, if you showed up every day and did your homework, you were a standout.

***

"Hey, white boy, come over here," a tall black teenager called out. It was after the last class. Joey walked over to him, knowing better than to try to run away. The black kid was one of a group of four, three black, one Hispanic. They were all quite tall and well-built – men really, except for their bearing. Joey dimly remembered them as members of the football team, introduced at a pep rally not long ago.

"The Gangsta Kings have a party planned for you tommorow night," the black kid said with a smirk. It was 'Dancer' Montreux, a halfback.

Joey said nothing. He believed what they were telling him because it was bad news, but he tried not to show fear. Another football player, 'Yellow Dog' Colson, chimed in. "They gonna to find out how good a pussy you is," he said with a smirk.

"Rip ya wide open," 'Gunmaster' Torey chimed in. They all laughed.

"So we want to know, puto, exactly how good you are." It was 'Lightning' Gonzales, the fastest fullback in the state.

There was nothing to say to that. Joey turned to walk away. Perhaps they wouldn't beat him right then – they were in the school building, after all, and a security guard might happen by. He would take their information under advisement, figure out some way to avoid the Gangsta Kings. He didn't get far.

Dancer grabbed the retreating boy by the arm and pulled him back. It was a very tight grip on a slender arm that had never done anything more strenuous than lift a TV remote. Not that it would have mattered much if Joey had worked out. A late bloomer, he was still short of the full bloom of puberty, without the hormones needed for body-building. He was petite and pretty, perfect grist for the urban mill.

Dancer pulled the boy close and crouched down so that they were face to face. "They will probably kill you afterward," he said, with chilling honesty.

"The Gangsta Kings don't like fags," Gunmaster put in. "They'll just fuck you till you can't see straight, then stick a knife in your soft little belly." He poked his finger into Joey's belly for emphasis.

"And that would be a waste," Dancer said. He was the leader. "We don't want you to die, Joey." Dancer made a sad expression, which the others mimicked.

"W-well, thanks for the warning," Joey replied, trying once more to get away, but the older boy held him tight.

"'S not a warning, it's a prophecy," Lightning said.

"The reason we're telling you this is, we don't want you to die," Dancer said.

"No-o-o, that would be a waste," Gunmaster put in, stroking Joey's auburn hair.

"A real waste," said Yellow Dog.

Joey didn't say anything. They were yanking his chain, but at the same time he was sure that what they were saying was true. He had seen a few of the Gangsta Kings eyeing him up and down, stroking their cocks under their jeans, winking at him. He was going to die, he realized – the Gangsta Kings, from what he'd heard, liked nothing better than to kill someone in a new and imaginative way – but that was tomorrow – for now, he wanted to get away from these people. He was about to cry, but that was one thing he could not do, now with the likes of these people.

Dancer could see the tears held back. He grinned, then made his face solemn. "What we mean to say, Joey, is that we could protect you. We could solve your problem with the Gangsta Kings, even stop everybody else from picking on you."

Here it comes, Joey thought. They want money. Everybody thinks I have money because I used to live in the suburbs. Well, I don't have money, and they'll find that out, then they'll beat me up, then tomorrow the Gangsta Kings will kill me.

"We take care of you, if you take care of us," Lightning said.

"Cost you nothing, 'cept a sore butt," Gunmaster quipped, then laughed. The others, more self-controlled, merely smiled, then became solemn again.

"All we want is for you to be our boy." It was Yellow Dog, his face perfectly serious and earnest. "Be our boy, and we'll take care of you."

"Even the Gangsta Kings don't fuck with the football team. They want us to win," Gunmaster explained, now as earnest as the others.

Joey was appalled to find himself tempted by the offer. It appeared to be a way out of his daily torment – but what was the price? "What do I have to do?" he asked.

Dancer allowed himself a smile; they had the kid. "Just be nice to us, do things for us. Give a suck now and then." Joey recoiled involuntarily, but the older boy held him fast. "It's not so bad. We'll teach you what to do. Nobody will hurt you, we'll make sure of that."

"We talk to the Gangsta Kings, tell them you our boy, that take care of it," Lightning said.

"We take it slow and easy, not like them," Yellow Dog said.

"Yeah, they fuck you hard, 20 guys at a time, then they kill you. You don't want that. We make sure you get taken care of," Gunmaster added.

"What do you think, Joey? You want to be our boy?" Dancer asked.

"I-I don't know," Joey said, ashamed of the offer, ashamed of the fact that he could not say 'no' outright.

"Let us know tomorrow by lunch. Otherwise, it'll be too late," Dancer said.

Dancer released Joey's arm, and the four older boys walked off. Gunmaster winked at him as he left.

***

Joey managed to get home okay. The most dangerous part of the trip was the few blocks outside the school door; after that, it was mostly a matter of keeping his head down and not making eye contact with anybody.

His mother wasn't there. The message on the answering machine told him to make himself dinner and not to wait up. Joey heated up some soup and turned on the TV.

His mind wasn't on what he was watching, though. He had a decision to make. The Gangsta Kings were planning to gang-rape, then kill him – at least, that's what the football players said. Joey believed them, but even if he didn't, it didn't matter. If the Gangsta Kings didn't kill him, someone else would, probably soon. At it stood, he had been beaten up almost every day since school started. Joey was about the smallest kid in school; without powerful friends, which he did not have, the beatings were sure to continue. Possibly they would even get worse – a lot of the kids carried knives and guns.

The football team could protect him. All they wanted was for him to be 'their boy', to give them 'a suck now and then'. Well, they would want to fuck him as well – Gunmaster mentioned that Joey would have a sore butt.

Could they actually do that? Joey wondered. He had seen the size of the cocks on some of the black kids in gym, and it didn't seem possible that they would fit in his butthole. And those were just freshmen. What would it be like if they could?

And what would it be like to suck someone off? Joey tried to imagine it, tried to imagine himself kneeling before one Yellow Dog, taking the older boy's fat penis into his mouth. His mind recoiled, but he forced himself to focus on it, to imagine every detail of it, the smell, the taste, the feel of curly hair on his upper lip – until, half an hour later, it became merely a mechanical matter, so much plumbing.

Joey realized that he had made his decision.

***

When he went to school the next day, the Gangsta Kings were, as usual, standing in the doorway, making crude passes at the girls, hurling abuse at members of rival gangs. Joey put his head down and walked quickly, hoping to pass through the gauntlet without much damage.

"Joey!" one of the boys called out in a singsong voice. "Come over here and suck me, boy." He walked on.

Another gang member yelled, "Joey, don't you hear good? Get you pretty little ass over here and suck the man." His face burning with shame, the boy continued on, ready to break into a run.

Just at that moment, Dancer appeared and put his arm around Joey's shoulders. "Y'all leave this little peckerwood alone," he said.

The assistant gang leader (the leader himself was elsewhere) stepped forward. "Mind your own business, Dancer. He's our little girlfriend." The leader stroked Joey's face with mock tenderness. A crowd began to gather, anticipating a fight.

The Gangsta Kings gathered behind the assistant leader. Yellow Dog, Gunmaster, and Lightning Gonzales backed up Dancer. "He's the football team's girlfriend. Ain't that right, Joey? Give me a kiss." Dancer leaned over. Mortified, Joey gave him a peck on the cheek. The crowd laughed and whooped.

The leader wasn't impressed. "You think you do what you want, since you on the football team, but this white boy is our property. Nobody take from the Gangsta Kings." The Kings gave a loud holler.

Dancer waited for the noise to die down. "I'm telling you he's football team property. Talk to Brando." The mention of their leader's nickname took the gang members aback. "I already fixed it with him." Dancer waited for that to sink in. "Besides, I don't see any gang colors on this boy, I don't see him waving your sign." The other three football players, seeing that Dancer was winning the argument, stepped closer.

"I do that," the assistant leader replied. "I talk to him. He better tell me what you said, or 3;" He leaned toward Dancer and slammed his fist into his hand.

Dancer ignored him. "Come on, Joey-boy," he said, leading Joey through the mob, into the relative safety of the school. Behind them, the gang members were in an uproar. The assistant leader was having trouble keeping them in line – most seemed to think that Dancer should be killed. Well, that was the assistant leader's problem. Dancer had known the boy, known that Brando wouldn't be around this early in the morning, known that the assistant leader was an uncertain sort of character, easily fooled, who had risen to his rank through nothing but sheer dumb cruelty.

In fact, the matter had already been cleared with Brando. It wasn't as if Joey had any choice, after all. If the boy had refused, the football team would have taken him anyway. Still, it was sweet that Joey had accepted the offer – it made things much easier.

For Joey, it was not an easy thing at all. He wanted to crawl into the floor. Dancer walked him all the way to his locker. "Wait here for me after school," he said, walking off. "See you later, honey," he added, turning. He blew Joey a kiss. Several kids saw it and laughed.

The rest of the day was the next thing to hell. Boys kept making obscene proposals to Joey, ostentatiously stroking their crotches, patting his butt. There was one thing, though. Nobody threatened him, and nobody demanded money from him. For the first time in months, Joey actually got to use his lunch money and eat lunch. (He didn't qualify for a free lunch because of his family's much higher income the previous year.)

***

Dancer was waiting at Joey's locker after his last class. "Give me a kiss, honey," he said, bending down. Reluctantly, the boy complied. Dancer watched while Joey loaded his backpack with the books he would take home and closed his locker. Then he put his arm around Joey's shoulders and led him away.

"Okay, you need to learn a few things. You're a smart kid, so you won't have any trouble. First thing: when a member of the football team wants a kiss, you kiss him, without being asked. Like this." Dancer bent over and presented his cheek, and Joey kissed it. "Good. Do you know the members of the team?"

Joey shook his head.

"I'll introduce you. Second thing: you don't fool around with anybody who's not on the team. If anybody asks you, you tell them you're our boy. Got that? Say it."

"I'm your boy."

"Good. Third thing: you come to every game, and you cheer loud. You stand up when we score. You're our biggest fan."

"Okay."

They walked out into the parking lot. Dancer unlocked his car and held the door. "Get in," he said.

"Where are we going?" Joey asked.

Dancer shook his head. "I thought you were smart. I'm only going to say this once: when I tell you to do something, you do it. When a member of the team tells you to do something, you do it. You don't ask 'why.' Got that?"

"Yes."

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Call me 'sir' from now on. Same with anybody else on the team. Got that?"

"Yes, sir."

"Now get in." Joey got in. Dancer closed the door, then walked around to the driver's side, got in, and started the engine. They pulled out of the parking lot. In spite of the situation he was in, Joey was relieved to get away from the school.

There was no further conversation. Dancer drove into an unfamiliar part of town. While still run-down, it consisted of single-family homes rather than apartments, which prevailed nearer the school. He stopped in front of a small brown house. They got out, and Joey followed the older boy inside. It was empty; they were alone. Dancer took Joey into his bedroom.

It looked like an average teenager's bedroom. There was an old bed with a pine frame, unmade of course, and dirty clothes littered the floor. There were dirty dishes on the dresser. The walls were covered with posters of athletes. A small 'Nerf' hoop hung on the inside of the door; the ball was nowhere to be seen.

"Take off your clothes," Dancer ordered. Joey just looked at him.

The 14-year-old didn't see the hand that struck him, it was so fast. One minute he was standing, trying to come to terms with what he had been told to do, the next he was on the floor, holding his cheek, where a pink handprint had just been placed.

"I told you before, when I tell you to do something, you do it. Now stand up and take off your clothes."

Joey stood and pulled off his sneakers, balancing precariously on one foot. His socks followed. Dancer seemed impatient, so the boy quickly removed his shirt, then pulled off his shorts and underwear in one movement.

Naked, he looked up at Dancer, then quickly down at the floor.

Dancer looked him up and down. "God, you are pretty," he said. "Turn around." Joey did so. "Wiggle your butt for me. Not so much. That's better." The boy stood still, so embarrassed that his mind detached itself and he seemed to be watching things from outside. "Turn around again."

Joey turned back around to face the football player.

"Do you know how to suck cock?" Dancer asked.

Joey shook his head, then seeing a hand upraised to slap him again, said quickly, "No, sir."

"I'll teach you, then. Get on your knees." All resistance gone, the 14- year-old sank to his knees and watched as Dancer unbuckled his belt, undid the snap, and lowered his zipper. He lowered his jeans and boxers to mid-thigh, exposing a good-sized, brown cock that was already half hard. "Kiss it," he ordered.

Joey leaned forward and kissed the tip of the prick. "That's a boy. You always wanted to do this, didn't you? Now lick my balls. Put them in your mouth and twirl them around with your tongue." Joey did it. At first, the saltiness of the sweaty balls numbed his tongue, but as he continued to swirl the older boy's testes and spit began to flow, he could taste again. As he breathed, he inhaled Dancer's musky scent through his pubic hair.

"That's enough," Dancer said, and Joey moved his mouth away. A hair had gotten stuck between his teeth, and Dancer winced as it was pulled out by the root. "Hey, peckerbreath, when you suck my cock, keep your teeth off it, understand?"

"Yes, sir," Joey said, his mind numb.

"Now lick my cock, starting at the bottom. Go up to the top. That's right." The older boy was hard now, and Joey licked his way from the nest of hair to the helmet head. "Lick around the head some. Lick back down and up a few times. Kiss it again. Lick my balls some too. No hands!"

Joey complied with the orders. In a way, it was easier than it had been when he'd just been standing naked for inspection – now, he had something to do, something to concentrate on. Something to take his mind off the overwhelming fact that he was naked on his knees before an older, more powerful boy.

Dancer let him work for a while, appreciating the way that Joey was putting himself into it. He was learning fast. "That's good. Now put your mouth over the tip. Don't let your teeth touch me!" Joey complied. "Move your tongue on it. No, don't take your mouth off it! Keep it in your mouth and stroke it with your tongue. Get the back side too. Suck a little." The barrage of commands kept Joey focused on his work. "Put your hands on my sides. Lower. Now pull me into your mouth."

The cock slowly disappeared into Joey's mouth as he pulled the older boy into him. He noticed, as if from a distance, as the head of it moved across the roof of his mouth, toward his throat. "Keep your tongue moving," Dancer ordered. "Suck a little harder. Oh, that's good. You're a natural cocksucker, Joey, a natural." They paused for a minute. About half of the 7 inch [18 cm] cock was inside the boy's mouth; the rest would not fit.

"Can you get more in?" Dancer asked. Joey shook his head around the cock that filled his face. "Okay, that's enough for now. Later, I'll teach you to take it down your throat. Start moving your head up and down on it."

Joey was, it seemed, a natural. He set up a very good rhythm, moving up and down, sucking hard then more softly, savoring every inch with his tongue. "Excellent," Dancer gasped. "Take the rest in your hand and jack me." Joey complied. "Faster. Oh yeah, show me how you want it, bitch."

Overcome by lust, Dancer grabbed Joey's head and began to move it up and down on himself. "Yeah, you my little white boy bitch, with my cock in your mouth. Oh, bitch, you love it, yeah, suck me hard. Suck out that man cum from your big black daddy. Love that big nigger dick."

Joey was stung by the words, but he had other things on his mind, namely, breathing. He quickly learned to breathe on the upstroke. That became harder, however, when Dancer's speed increased. Still, the 14-year-old obediently continued to jack the lower 3 inches [7 cm] of the halfback's cock.

Soon, the older boy's cum was shooting into Joey's throat. "Oh, yeah. Swallow it," Dancer ordered. "Swallow it all. Show how you love me." Joey swallowed, but it kept coming, he swallowed again, and again, trying to ignore the taste, noticing regardless that it wasn't that bad, just slightly salty, fishy and thick, like clam chowder. But not exactly.

When Dancer was done, he pushed the boy back forcefully, and Joey fell onto his hands, some stray drops of semen leaking from his mouth. Mindful of Dancer's order to swallow it all, he wiped them up with his fingers and licked them off. With no independent self-image remaining, he looked up at Dancer, seeking confirmation, assurance.

"You're a good little cocksucker," Dancer said, making Joey smile slightly in spite of himself. The older boy pulled up his pants and zipped them. "Yeah, you'll be a good little girlfriend for the team." He looked down. "Damn! You liked that, didn't you?!" he asked, amazed, seeking Joey's small erection.

"Yes," Joey said, softly, not yet fully returned to himself. Thinking quickly, he corrected: "Yes, sir."

Dancer smiled to himself, shaking his head. "A real faggot. Well, you'll have a lot of fun, then," he said, laughing. "Stand up." Joey stood up, somehow less stable on his feet than Dancer, though with less reason. The older boy steadied him. "Stay there," he ordered.

Joey watched as Dancer fished through one of the drawers in his untidy dresser. He came back with a small cylindrical vibrator and a jar of Vaseline. "Bend over the bed," he said.

Joey bent over with his hands on the bed. He watched as Dancer lubed up the vibrator and turned it on, showing Joey how it was done. The older boy then disappeared from view behind the 14-year-old.

"Damn! What's this?" Dancer exclaimed. "Stay there," he repeated. He left the room and came back with a damp washcloth, then wiped out Joey's crack. "You keep yourself clean for me from now on, boy. Damn! From now on, when you take a shit, you wipe good, then you get some toilet paper wet and wipe again. You got that? I won't have you if you're dirty."

"Yes, sir," Joey said, ashamed of himself.

"Now stay still. This might hurt a little, but probably not too much." Soon, the rattling vibrator was pressing against Joey's asshole. Involuntarily, he moved some. "Stay still!" Dancer repeated. Joey concentrated on remaining still as the vibrator moved into him. The vibrations massaged his anal muscles so that penetration was nearly, but not quite, painless, and Joey winced a bit as it went it, but did not cry out.

When it was fully embedded, Dancer stood up again, wiping his hands on the boy's shirt. "Stand up," he said, and Joey stood, the vibrator remaining where it was, sending an unfamiliar tingly feeling throughout his body from its source in his rectum.

"How does that feel?" Dancer asked, smirking.

"Funny."

"Funny, like how? Good, or bad?"

"Not bad," Joey said, his shame returning now that he had nothing to do.

"Good. I figured you'd like it. I want you to use it on yourself every day. Move it in and out."

Joey just looked at him for a minute before he realized that he was supposed to demonstrate. He reached behind himself and found the end of the vibrator, bent over slightly, and moved it in and out. It was a wild feeling, not at all unpleasant, frightening somehow in its strange intensity. Joey's cock, which had begun to subside, went back to full mast.

"That's enough, you can take it out now," Dancer said. "Go in the bathroom and wash it off. It belongs to you now. Take this too," he added, handing Joey the jar of Vaseline.

The boy went into the bathroom and washed off the vibrator. He found the switch and figured out how to turn it off. Absently, he thought that it should be more difficult than it was for him to accept this new role, but it was easy. For the first time in the last couple months, he knew exactly what to do, how to behave.

Still naked, Joey brought back the clean vibrator and jar of jelly. "You can put your clothes on now," Dancer said, and Joey got dressed. "Sit down."

Joey sat on the edge of the bed. "Now, a few more things. From now on, you take a shower every morning before you come to school, and you make sure you stay clean. I want you to use that vibrator every day just like you did here, get yourself loosened up. That's for your own good, by the way. It'll be a lot easier when you get fucked if you're loose." Joey looked quickly up at Dancer, the words, "when you get fucked," slamming into his brain. The older boy ignored it.

"We have a game against Eastside next Friday at 7. You'll be there. I want you to wear shorts, a t-shirt, and those sneakers. That's all. No socks, no underwear. No long shorts and baggy shirt, either. You wear some short shorts that show off your pretty little legs, and a tight shirt. Take some scissors and cut it off right here," he said, sliding his hand across his abdomen a few inches above the bellybutton. "And I want those shorts tight. Got it? You got clothes like that?"

"Yes, sir," Joey said.

"Good. Here's a dollar. Go down to the corner and catch the number 9 bus. That'll take you back by the school. You can walk home from there."

"Yes, sir," Joey said. He put the vibrator and jar of Vaseline in his pockets and walked out of the house. The bus came almost as soon as he arrived to wait for it. It took him back to the school and most of the way home. Apart from a few wolf-whistles, nobody bothered him on the street.

***

The rest of the week got easier. The razzing by the other students subsided, but did not dissipate. Joey had to tell one insistent boy that he couldn't suck him because he was the football team's boy, but that was the only real trouble.

The Gangsta Kings had gone from being his chief tormentors to his protectors. They made it known that nobody was to mess with Joey. Brando insisted on a kiss, and Joey gave him one, then apologized to Dancer about it. Dancer said it was all right, Brando was a big football fan.

One by one, Dancer introduced Joey to all the football players, including the ones who sat on the bench, and Joey kissed each one on the cheek. A couple wanted to kiss him back, but that was only when there was no one else around. Joey learned to suck tongue as he had earlier sucked Dancer's cock.

Every night, as ordered, Joey used the vibrator on himself. The easiest way, though somewhat uncomfortable, was to lean against the head of his bed, curled tightly with his legs up as he moved the appliance in and out of his hole. Apart from the pain in his back, the feeling was delightful, approaching fantastic as his speed increased. Joey learned to relax his anal muscles and let the thing in, so that it didn't hurt. He got hard every time, using his free hand to play with his erection. It was only about two inches [5cm] long, and he tried pulling it with his fingers, but that didn't work very well; his hand kept slipping off. The best way was to put some Vaseline on his palm and just rub it openhanded. He didn't orgasm, just went faster and faster, the pleasure growing and ebbing until he was too exhausted to continue. It only served to whet his appetite for more, and he nearly ran home from school, hoping that his mom would not be there so that he could use the vibrator some more.

Following Dancer's orders, Joey began to shower in the morning rather than at night, and he carefully styled his hair. His mom smiled at that, thinking that her little boy was growing up.

Dancer and Yellow Dog took Joey into the boys' room at school every day after third period. They went into one of the stalls, and Joey sucked their cocks, swallowing every last drop. Afterward, Dancer patted Joey's head and told him once more that he was a good cocksucker. Yellow Dog assured the boy that there was more where that came from.

Whenever Joey passed a football player in the hall, the boy reached down and patted his fanny. Joey knew what they meant; he began to think about being fucked. He became conscious of his bottom, involuntarily sashaying a bit as he walked. He inspected the football players carefully. They were so much bigger, real men, not a boy like he was. They had deep voices and big cocks, not like his little peter.

Back at home, as he masturbated with the vibrator, Joey imagined the machine penetrating him was the cock of this or that member of the team. One by one, they took him in his mind as he fucked himself, wild with delight. The thought of a penis in his rear was so horrible, yet so exciting, that he couldn't keep his mind off it. How would they take him? he wondered. Pushed over the side of the bed, like with Dancer? On all fours? On his back with his feet up?

In the back of his mind, Joey knew that it was wrong for him to be so excited, so eager to have sex with older boys. It should have been hard for him to adjust to this new life. He couldn't figure why he felt as he did, except that everyone had hated him when he was a normal boy, and now they all loved him when he was a pussy. He wanted those big, strong men (he thought of them as men in comparison to himself) to like him, and he knew they liked him – a lot – when they had their cocks in his body.

***

The day of the game, Joey could hardly control his excitement. He spent a very long time in the shower, bent against the wall, shoving his fingers in and out of his hole, removing every trace of filth. At long last, having washed every part of him twice, he came out, wrapped in a towel, and smiled at his exhausted mother. She was far too tired to go to the game with him.

He had his clothes laid out. No underwear, no socks, like Dancer said. Joey's sneakers were dirty, and he regretted not washing them earlier, but it was too late for that now.

The shorts and shirt were clean, however. He had found an old pair of his mother's running shorts, back from when she was a teenager – she never threw anything out, and there were boxes of stuff like this piled to the ceiling in her small bedroom. They were short, all right, rising to the top of Joey's thighs, and they were tight. Not too tight – he could still move in them – but tight enough than any interested observer would see that he wasn't wearing underwear. Best of all, they were pink. He wondered if Dancer and the other boys would appreciate that. Joey would be their little girlfriend. He smiled as he slipped them on.

Next, he put on the shirt. It was his own from a few years back, white with a picture of Goofy on it. A little-boy shirt, tight on him now. As Dancer had said, he had cut it off so that his belly showed. Next, he pulled on some jeans and a sweatshirt. No, Dancer hadn't told him to do that, but Joey had to get past his mother. He put on the shoes and walked out the door, telling her he didn't know when he'd be back since he was invited to a party with the football team after the game. She didn't mind. Joey was a responsible kid.

He walked out the door, went about a block, and dove into an alley, then removed the sweatshirt and jeans, stuffing them into a plastic bag he'd brought for the purpose. He was a lot cooler in the hot Southern evening, but he soon began to have second thoughts. What would people think when they saw him walk down the street? When he walked out to the field and took his seat in the bleachers?

Joey steeled himself and walked back out into the street, taking his usual path to school. Men and boys – and some girls too – hooted and whistled at him, calling out obscene suggestions. No one touched him, though: this was Gangsta King territory, and he was protected.

They all knew who he was, where he was going, and why he was dressed like this. Someone, an older man, shouted at Joey that if he was that eager for a fuck, he could just come right over and get one. Everyone on the crowded street burst out laughing, and the offers started pouring in, men and boys shouting that he could take them in his behind, if he was that desperate to be fucked.

Unable to bear the shame and embarrassment, Joey converted it, embraced it. He sashayed down the street, wiggling his bottom, his hands held prettily at his sides, his little cock hard as a rock in the tight pink shorts. He became prissy, holding the plastic bag with his street clothes like a purse.

Another sort of dam burst at that, and someone stepped up and swatted his fanny. Joey turned quickly to see a boy about 16, grinning widely, not at all abashed. Other boys were approaching. It was time to get out of there. Joey started running.

He arrived at the field about five minutes before kickoff and took a seat behind the bench. As expected, he cheered loudly, jumping up and down when the team scored. Joey fetched the team members drinks of Gatorade and rubbed their sore necks.

***

After the game, the team went out to A&W for some food. Joey was in Dancer's car, sitting in the lap of a very large defensive tackle. He and Joey didn't eat much. The older boy's tongue spent most of the time in Joey's mouth.

They all drove out to the house of one of the players. Like the others in the neighborhood, it was small and run-down. The tackle picked Joey up and carried him directly to the bedroom. The older boy didn't waste any time. He dumped Joey on the bed and yanked the shorts down, then pulled his own slacks down. The tackle pulled Joey over to the edge of the bed, laying him face down so that his bottom hung over the edge, spat in his hand and wet his cock, and plunged right in.

Joey gasped. At last, it was happening. The pain was terrible, more than he expected. The lubrication was inadequate, and the well-built tackle's cock was significantly bigger than the vibrator. What's more, the football player showed no mercy, plunging all the way in almost immediately. Joey closed his eyes tight, clenched his fists, and bit the bedspread.

The cock moved in and out, forcefully shoving the 14-year-old into the mattress. It was a violent entry into the life of a butt-boy, one that emphasized that Joey didn't matter, only his bottom did, and only when it had a cock in it. A ripping pain seared the boy's guts. It was terrible, but he could bear it. He had to. He regretted the fact that he had ever agreed to be the team's boy as his pelvis was ground into the bedspread.

Then, just as the pain began to subside, the tackle moved forward, penetrating Joey as far as possible, and came. The warm goo finally began to lubricate the boy's tortured rectum, easing the pain still more. The older boy pulled out abruptly, still hard, and slapped Joey on the bottom.

Amazed, violated, and sore, Joey lay on the bed panting, struggling to recover. He did not get the chance. Another team member drove his cock into the boy's upturned ass. It was smaller than the tackle's, and Joey was well-lubricated now with his cum. The pain was manageable, slowly turning to pleasure. But just as Joey was getting into it, beginning to push back, seeking to get more inside, it was over. Another load of cum was deposited in the boy's rectum.

By now, Joey wanted it, wanted it more than he could stand. He looked behind him to see a group of boys just standing there, talking and laughing. He wiggled his bottom at them.

Finally, one boy took the cue. "Turn over," he told Joey. The tall, wiry running back lifted up the boy's legs, pushing them back to his shoulders, and plunged in, driving to the pubes in one swoop.

"Aaah!" Joey moaned, the pain returning, yet overshadowed by the powerful pleasure caused by the penis inside him.

The older boy laughed. "What's that?" He pulled out slowly, then drove in fast. "What is it you want?"

"Fuck me," Joey gasped. It had been what he always wanted, to feel like this. His head tossed in delirium as he felt the cock pushing into him, completing him, like a jigsaw puzzle of delight. He never wanted it to leave. He wanted to stay here, on this bed, on his back with his feet in the air, draped over the side, sitting on a fat penis, being taken by men, enjoyed by them as they pleased, as long as they took him. "I want to be fucked," he whispered.

And so he was, twelve times that night, another five times the following day, at least three times a day for the following year. At length, the team tired of Joey, but then it didn't matter – he could find willing cocks elsewhere. He would never have to worry about becoming a "real" man.

Joey had been saved.

The End