ToolUser

Brave Enough

Chapter 1

Ben looked round.

The kid was skinny and pale, dressed in a blue windbreaker with the sleeves fashionably pushed half up his forearms; his long hair disheveled, hanging to his collar and half obscuring his pretty face. He was leaning against the brick wall of the alley, one foot up against the wall and he had his thumbs hooked in the front pockets of his tight, sky-blue jeans.

"You goin' in?" He ran the tip of his tongue along his upper lip; then jerked his head toward the movie theatre entrance, making his curly blond hair brush against his slender neck.

"Yes," Ben said, shortly, and then winced at his tone. He hadn't meant to be rude, but these days he seemed permanently on edge. It was just a stupid adventure film. Nobody could guess that he was going (for the fifth time this week), neither for the wise-cracking iron-jawed hero nor his hugely over-endowed female sidekick, but for the first eight minutes of the film where the hero and his twelve year old son Shackleton coexist in domestic bliss before the kidnapping winds up the creaky plot machine. The longer section at the end, where Shackleton hugs the heroine Dusty and expresses his delight at having a 'proper family at last' just turned his stomach. He usually left well before then.

"Shit! I was only askin'!"

Ben paused in mid-stride. "Only asking what?"

The kid sighed, and shrugged his shoulders, hands still hooked in his pockets. "Nothin'."

"Well?" he said as Ben stood there, "what you lookin' at?"

Now it was Ben's turn to shrug. "I don't know. You wanted to ask me something?"

The boy nodded. "Film's a 14," he said, "but I really, really wanna go see it."

"Oh." Ben tried a little man-to-man bonding. "A fan of Dusty Deluxe, huh?"

"Her?" the boy raised a scornful eyebrow. "Not likely! Her wardrobe's got more talent than she does. Please tell me it's not why you're going – for the fifth time."

Ben felt hot and cold. It was all he could do not to look wildly round for the police inspectors closing in.

"You – you noticed?"

"Yeah, I'm often round here. So, we going in?" He unpeeled himself from the wall and smiled hopefully; for all the world, Ben thought bitterly, as though it wasn't extortion. The top of his head just came level with the man's chest.

Ben shrugged. "Okay."

"Mister cool." He smiled, a quirky lifting of one side of his mouth, and Ben felt his heart turn over, a heavy shudder in his chest like an old Ford on a cold morning. The boy stuck both hands in the pockets of his jacket, and the zip front gaped open. Beneath it he was wearing a khaki athletic top – it looked like army surplus.

Fashion fake, Ben thought. They don't make them that small. He tried not to stare at the smooth toned skin of the boy's chest.

The boy noticed, and smiled slightly. "Well, c'mon then. Or we'll miss those lovely credits." He moved ahead, walking with the lissome grace of youth, or long practise.

Ben paid for them both: one adult, one child, fumbling his wallet away with shaking hands and babbling something about the cultural importance of film. He was sure the old frog in the ticket booth would say something, but he acted like Ben's newly acquired 'nephew' was invisible, his faded blue gaze empty as he handed over the tickets.

Perhaps he needed the trade: the old Roxy was never busy. Built when oriental excess was the height of fashion, now the red plush on the heavy double doors was faded to dull rose, and the gilt had rubbed off to show wood wherever people regularly touched. The high ceilinged lobby smelled of dust and long-dead popcorn – it looked to be years since the concession was open. Ben had never seen the place more than a third full, and for this matinee it was much less than that.

The lights were already down in the auditorium, and the credits were rolling. Ben started to go down to the front, but the boy grabbed his hand.

"This way," he hissed, pulling the taller man towards the empty back row. He moved right along to the middle and sat down.

The screen brightened on the familiar opening scene of a cherry-blossom-laden tree, with a blackbird singing sweetly in it. Ben settled back to enjoy the schmaltz.

It took him a moment to realize that the boy was sitting very close, his arm pressing against Ben's on the armrest. Courteously he surrendered the space, moving his arm down to his lap, watching the screen for the first appearance of the film's little cutie.

Ben could hear his companion moving restlessly in his seat but ignored him, enjoying the scene of the blond screen moppet preparing breakfast for his deadbeat Dad. He guessed they'd written it as a comedy, with all the makeshifts the kid had improvised to work the toaster and fill the heavy percolator, but he always found the kid Shackleton's imaginitive determination touching.

Ben was just watching Shackleton preparing to wake his Dad by banging a saucepan with a spoon (because, gosh, we couldn't have him actually touch his Dad, could we?) when he felt the boy lean close.

"I come for fifteen," he whispered.

"What?" he replied, distracted.

"Fifteen dollars," the boy amplified.

"You do what?" Ben looked round.

"Cum. You know 3;" He was hunched close, and his skin looked like snow in the reflected screen light. He was sitting oddly, and it took the man a moment to realize that he'd unbuttoned his jeans and had his hand down the front.

The boy stared up at him. "Oh, god. You don't know, do you?" Even in that odd light it seemed to Ben the boy went pale. He sat absolutely still: eyes wide and dark. His lips were slightly apart, perfectly sculpted, every crease highlighted. His upper lip narrow, the lower slightly plump; both dark as sin, and as tempting.

"It's okay," Ben murmured. "I've got the picture now."

The boy laughed raggedly. "You shouldn't scare people like that."

"I'm sorry." Ben put his hand over the boy's, where it rested on the seat-arm. It felt so natural. His skin was smooth and warm, and he could feel the slender bones beneath.

Abruptly the boy looked down, breaking their gaze.

"So," he mumbled. "You want to?"

"Er, what?"

"You know – get me off."

"For fifteen?"

The boy sighed, staring down at his lap. "I didn't reckon you for a cheapskate, mister. All right – twelve."

"How much – for a kiss?"

The kid looked up. Leaned back. "I don't do that."

"No," Ben said sadly. "Neither do I."

The auditorium door squeaked open behind them. Ben looked round and saw a stocky figure in a pale raincoat framed in the doorway, watching them. The latecomer let the door slap shut again and Ben watched the pale figure stroll casually down the aisle, pick a seat about half way down and get settled. Beside him, he heard the boy gasp.

He glanced over and saw the boy staring at the newcomer. "I suppose you get that a lot," Ben murmured.

His companion jumped. "What?" he said.

"Oh, you know." Even in the darkened autidorium, Ben felt himself flush. "Previous, er, customers."

"No." the kid shook his head, and moistened his lips nervously. "I don't know him. You want to carry on?"

Ben saw that the boy hadn't buttoned up: his slim pale cock still jutted from his open fly. Suddenly he understood.

Even with the sick certainty of entrapment drying his mouth, Ben couldn't help noticing how beautiful the boy's cock was. The head was dark, slightly shiny, and gracefully shaped.

Nevertheless, it was time to end this foolishness. "So 3;," he said, beginning to stand up.

"Please 3;" the boy grabbed at his sleeve. "Okay. I'll kiss you." He looked deathly frightened.

"Get away from me, faggot!" Ben said loudly, for the microphones. It wouldn't make any difference. He'd paid for the boy's ticket; any jury would conclude he was the predator and had intended to take advantage. Nonetheless he intended to make them work for this arrest.

He turned hastily and batted his way out of the swing doors, and then again out into the street; into the murky overcast of the afternoon. There were no shouts, no sounds of pursuit. He turned a corner at random and did his best to walk quickly but without appearing suspiciously hasty. At any moment he expected figures to step out of the side of his vision, place heavy hands on his arms. His heart was beating a military tattoo in his chest, and already his underclothes were soaked with sweat. He turned another corner, beginning to hope. Maybe they'd messed up; their little stoolie certainly hadn't seemed very well trained.

He walked for a long time before cautiously circling back to his car, and he sat in it for some time waiting for his hands to stop shaking. Once they had, he drove home. Very cautiously, very carefully. Not only to avoid notice of the authorities, but also because all the time he was driving he was remembering the sight of that anonymous boy's cock; the sound of his voice and the feel of his breath against his cheek.

Ben swore to himself that he wouldn't go back to that theatre. He'd had a lucky escape; it would be madness to stick his head – or anything else – back into that man-trap. And for all his prettiness the boy was a whore, or worse.

But the comfortable little apartment he'd rented for so long now seemed shabby and mean. The single comfortable armchair in front of the TV, and the single chair at the kitchen table no longer seemed signs of sense and caution, but markers of his fear.

When he'd first moved in, he'd sat with the window open at his elbow, reading the paper as his imagination peopled the apartment with companions. At first, always with a comforting female presence somewhere fuzzily in the background, but the focus firmly on the young tyke larding his toast with butter and jelly, eagerly sharing his plans for the day.

He'd felt he was doing a good thing – facing up to reality – when he admitted that it was the boy's companionship which drew him. When he admitted to himself that it was a boy's body he longed to touch; a boy's voice he wanted to hear; even a boy's jokes that he wanted to laugh at. Then it seemed better to put this fantasy safely away. He'd rearranged his apartment; sold that empty chair; crowded boys out of his life and focused on work. It had seemed only prudent.

Five minutes in a darkened theater had taught Ben that he hadn't been living – he'd been hiding.

Now that he looked, the streets around the Roxy seemed to have a lot of boys standing around with no discernable purpose. He became aware that there were other cars which, like his, endlessly quartered these streets. Other drivers which, like him, knew about the boys.

As Ben watched, the gold colored sedan ahead of him slowed and pulled over to the kerb. A boy in jeans and a sleeveless t-shirt stepped away from the fire hydrant he'd been leaning against and bent down to look in the car's nearside window.

So simple. Ben watched the tableux receding in his rear-view mirror. It seemed only to take a moment or two, and then the boy was pulling open the door and climbing in. He gripped the wheel tightly, hearing the boy's confidential whisper again: "I come for fifteen."

All through his shift he knew he was going to do it. He had the time built up: in an effort to stay away from the Roxy he'd been arriving early and working late, hoping habit and the beige wall-weave of his cubicle could somehow keep him safe. He felt like a failure and a criminal both as he logged off his terminal early, and headed for the lifts.

Once home, he ate and showered and then paced his untidy rooms restlessly as dusk slowly approached and with it B-hour.

He forced himself to drive a slow, figure-eight circuit even though his fear urged him to choose the first boy he saw. It was different tonight. Before he'd just been a spectator. Now, he told himself, he might actually lift the heavy chestnut hair back from that boy's neck, or stroke the slim arms of the boy smoking in the doorway, or kiss the neck and throat of that boy with the buzz-cut and penetrating stare.

That one! Ben glimpsed blond hair, a familiar style. His heart thumped and his whole body tingled. He was already slowing by the time the foolishness of deliberately choosing a police agent occurred to him. Part of him, he realized – and not just the hard part throbbing in his shorts – part of him just didn't care.

By the time he'd pulled to he kerb, Ben realized that it wasn't his anonymous boy from the Roxy. Relief and disappointment roiled together beneath his breastbone.

This boy was older – mid-teens, at least. He was wearing short, tan pants and white socks that showed off his glowing, smooth-gold tan. His white sports shirt was loosely unbuttoned and Ben glimpsed lean muscles beneath as the boy bent to look in the window. He brushed his curly bangs back from his forehead with a lean, tanned hand while his gaze summed what he saw. He smiled, even teeth as white as his shirt.

"Give me a ride?"

He had the door open in a moment and was folding his lean, skater-boy body into the passenger's seat while Ben was still fumbling for a reply.

"Well?" the boy jerked his head toward the road. "Aren't you going to drive on?"

"What? Oh, er – yes." Ben fumbled the car into drive, and they moved off. "What do you, er 3;"

"Oh, the usual." The boy sprawled in the seat, legs apart, completely relaxed. The front of his pants bulged invitingly and his shirt had ridden up slightly, revealing his lean stomach. "What you into?"

He sounded so casual. Ben dragged his eyes back to the road. No need to drive so fast. He made himself slow down.

"No, I meant – what's your name?" he glanced over and saw the boy frown a moment, then shrug.

"Call me Andy, if you like. You wanna hang a right, here?" he gestured at the turning ahead. "There's a couple quiet roads, or a hotel further on, depending."

Ben slowed and turned. The road was narrow, lined with tall old houses, most with 'Vacancies' signs in the windows. "Depending?"

"Oh, shit." Out of the corner of his eye, Ben saw the boy roll his eyes. "Don't you guys have something better to do, like catch murderers or something?"

"What?"

"Forget it, copper. I've got nothing more to say." The boy folded his arms and stared ahead out the window.

"What?" For the first time in a long time, Ben could feel himself grinning. This kid thought that he – It was too ridiculous. He chuckled; it became a full belly-laugh. He was aware of the kid 'Andy' watching him with growing alarm, but he couldn't help himself. He laughed and laughed, blinking the tears from his eyes and pounding the steering wheel.

"Okay," Ben said finally, wiping the tears from his eyes with the back of one hand. "Where the hell is this hotel?"

"Back that way, we passed it." Andy was watching him warily. He seemed to relax a little as Ben slowed down, looking for somewhere to turn. "Okay, so you're not Vice. You still haven't told me what you're into."

"Haven't I?" Ben slowed sharply and pulled into a driveway. Behind him a car honked and the driver powered past, shouting something he didn't bother to listen to. "I'm into boys," he said, grinning. "And if you're willing, into you."

"Oh." Andy seemed to relax. "Look, I don't usually get fucked; I'm not really into it."

"Oh." Ben was distracted, watching his rear-view mirror. Having been quiet the whole time they were driving along it, now that he needed to reverse, the street had suddenly become busy. "Typical," he muttered. He sat, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

"Oh hell. Twenty five," Andy said suddenly. "If you want to do me, it's twenty five."

There was a gap. "Great!" Ben said. He reversed, turned, jammed the shift into Drive. "What does this place look like?"

He'd expected a run-down, flea-bitten dump, but to Ben's surprise Andy's no-tell hotel was a perfectly respectable-looking guesthouse. It was tall, with narrow, turn of the century sash windows, and looked as though it had originally been three private dwellings now knocked into one.

Ignoring the purple neon NO VACANCIES sign flashing in the window, Andy led the way confidently up the steps and pressed the bell next to the polished front door. In the harlequin light that streamed through the door's colored, leaded glass windows he stood casually, with one foot resting on the next step, and Ben couldn't help admiring the profile the boy so artfully produced. Really, it looked as though he was wearing no underwear beneath those pants at all.

The next moment the door whisked open, and a red-faced man like a shrunken Santa Claus grinned at them both, his bald pate gleaming in the light from the oversized chandelier which seemed to brush both crimson-patterned walls of the narrow hallway behind him.

"Ah, back again, my boy!" he said, smiling at Andy. "Come in, come in!" he gestured hospitably, and Ben followed the boy inside.

The carpet was soft underfoot, and the air had a faint, curious smell: lavendar, beeswax, and good cigars, together with an elusive, spicy undertone that reminded him of services in the school chapel. Huge, ornate gilt-framed mirrors hung on the walls, but rather than making the hallway seem bigger, they merely seemed to triple the amount of glittering crystal hanging overhead. The thickly-carpeted stairs leading up to the first floor were ordinary suburban standard, but had been gilded and meticulously painted with curling vines and flowers. A low murmur of conversation came through a partly open door nearby.

The little man stepped smartly past Ben and pulled the polished oak door closed, muffling the voices beyond into anonymity. Andy leaned close and whispered something, and the little man sighed with exaggerated patience.

"Okay, for you," he said, and Andy kissed his bald head affectionately.

"We've got 3b," the boy said. "I think you'll like it." He stepped closer. "It's usually fifty for the room, but Marcus took a bit off for me." Andy slipped his arms around Ben's waist and laid his head on his shoulder. "Is that okay?"

Ben shivered at the feel of the boy's lean body pressed against him. That alone would have been enough to get him to agree. The promise in the dark blue, knowing eyes looking up at him melted any last objections. He leaned closer, wanting to kiss those half-parted slender lips, but Andy turned his head aside.

"Not here," the boy murmured. "Company."

Ben turned his attention to the concierge, Marcus, who was beaming at him. "Room 3b, my friends," he said. He held out a key, and Andy took it.

"I'll go on up while you settle things," the boy said, slipping out of Ben's clumsy embrace. He paused on the bottom stair to give Ben another look. "Don't be long – I'll be waiting for you."

"You will have a good time," Marcus said, forcing Ben to look away from the sight of Andy's lean bottom clenching and moving as the boy climbed the stairs.

"Uh, yeah." Ben took out his wallet and pressed notes into the small man's hand.

"And for the boy, also," Marcus said, his hand still extended. "It pains me to be so untrusting, but 3;"

Ben ignored the man's soft patter, fumbling out more notes. It took all his self control not to just toss the man his wallet and tell him to take whatever he wanted. A moment later he was thumping up the stairs two at a time, his hard cock throbbing in his pants.

The upper hall was a single broad passageway, dimly lit by wall sconces. Ben's distracted gaze barely registered the oil paintings on the walls or the evergreen plants in their brass planters. There was 3b! Ben gripped the ornate doorhandle, twisted it, and shouldered his way into the room.

Impossibly, the boy was more beautiful than he had imagined. Ben stood wide-eyed, staring, as the door swung shut behind him.

Andy was sprawled across the bed face down, naked, his ass toward the door. Ben couldn't see the boy's face, just a mass of disheveled blond curls. His shoulders weren't wide, but his narrow, youthful waist made them seem so. All of his skin was tanned an even, golden brown except for the band around his hips. His lean ass gleamed white, like twin scoops of delicious ice cream.

His bent arms were resting on the coverlet, his wrists near his shoulders. His legs were spread slightly apart. He looked the very image of a just-fucked blond schoolboy.

Ben fumbled his cock out into the cool air and stalked toward the bed. He may have growled something; later, he wasn't sure. The sight of Andy's lean body pushed all other thoughts except animal need out of his head. He knelt on the edge of the bed, between the boy's spread legs, and leaned forward.

Andy lifted his hips. Even though he was still fully dressed, Ben could feel the heat from the boy's body like a fire on his skin. He murmured something incoherent, his hands stroking the smooth skin of Andy's shoulders, and the boy came up onto his knees and elbows.

Ben slid his hands down the boy's arms, enjoying the feel of lean skater muscles beneath smooth skin. Then he felt the tip of his cock touch bare skin.

Smooth. Very hot, brushing along the length of his cock: the boy's thigh. He heard Andy gasp, not with pain, and felt the boy twist underneath him, rubbing his lean body against Ben's clothing. Ben felt his cock gripped between Andy's smooth thighs; he gasped aloud; moaned in disappointment as the boy sank down beneath him, leaving his aching cock alone once more.

But it was only for a moment. Andy moved, and lifted his hips again. This time Ben felt the base of his cock pressed into the valley of the boy's ass; two firm mounds cradling his hot, aching hardness. He slid his cock back and forth. It was somehow slicker than he expected. He could feel the bony hardness of the boy's tail-bone, rubbing at the underside of his cock as he slid it back and forth.

Andy moved and Ben felt his cock slip out of that slick groove. He grunted, frustrated, and tried to find it again. Instead the tip of his cock encountered something hot, slick-smooth, with muscle behind it.

He thrust into the boy's ass, hard, and Andy groaned, his tight, slick passage gripping Ben's cock. Ben felt the tight ring of the boy's ass slide half-way down his cock at the first thrust, further on the equally urgent second. He ground his groin against the boy's lean asscheeks on the third. He wanted to speak but could only manage a possessive growl as he humped his cock repeatedly into Andy's slick heat.

Ben was trembling as he fucked the boy; the sensations were so intense. The boy's back passage massaged his cock like a mouth, and he moved his hips too, moaning and shuddering as Ben plunged and bucked.

Ben slid his hands down to Andy's wrists, gripping them tightly as he speeded up the pace. It seemed to excite the boy too: Andy started gasping, making cute little puppy-whimpers of need, pushing his hips back as Ben thrust forward, trying to get more cock up his hungry little hole. Their bodies thumped together in an accelerating beat, Ben fucking the boy faster as his climax approached.

"Yeah," he grunted. "Yeah – feel my cock in you. Like it, don't you?"

"Yes," Andy gasped. "Uh, uh. Oh fuck! Fuck, that's good, yeah."

The boy's gasps and moans excited Ben even further. He felt a tingle throughout his whole body – focusing in his balls as he continued to thrust into Andy's tight ass. The boy was so sexy; Ben wanted to kiss and lick every separate part of him. His cock felt huge and hard, at once numb and unbelievably sensitive. He could feel he was on the brink 3;

"Ahh! Uh!" Ben jammed his cock as deep into the boy as he could, feeling the boy's slender, muscular buns rubbing against his own hairy thighs. Andy pressed back against him, gasping, quivering and whimpering. Ben felt the boy's ring clamp tight around the base of his swollen, iron-hard cock, heard him moan with need as Ben's cock twitched 3;

3;and then he was pumping his hot seed into the boy's bowels; tight-focused spurts of ecstasy made more intense by the sudden-spasming-tightness of Andy's ring.

"Urghh!" Ben groaned, gritting his teeth as he came again, hard into Andy's tight-clenched ass. He released his grip on Andy's wrists so that he could hold him close, trembling as he pressed up tight against the boy's lean haunches, his cock pulsing weaker and weaker dribbles of cum.

"Beautiful boy," he whispered. "Beautiful boy." He knelt there for a long moment, catching his breath and waiting for his hammering pulse to sink into the low hundreds. With his face he brushed aside the boy's hair so that he could kiss his neck. "You're wonderful," he murmured.

"Mmm." Andy waited a moment, then shrugged his shoulders slightly, asking to be released.

Ben did so. As Andy leaned forward, Ben admired the boy's shapely back. For the first time he was able to see right down it, to the twin mounds of the boy's white ass spread open with his cock still buried between them. He gasped as Andy moved forward, feeling and seeing his cock slide out of the boy's stretched red ring like a conjuring trick. He heard Andy grunt, and the boy's asslips spread open just a little further as the head of Ben's cock popped out.

He looked up from that slowly closing red pleasure-mouth to see Andy watching him over his shoulder, his face flushed, a half-familiar smile on his lips. "Want to take your clothes off now, Tiger?"

"Uh, yeah." Ben blushed. "Sorry."

"For what? It's nice you were keen." Andy twisted round to sit on the bed and began unbuttoning Ben's shirt. "Oh, nice!" he said, pausing to ruffle Ben's chest hair. "You want to shuck your pants off? Or you want me to?"

"No, it's okay." Ben felt close to collapse as he pushed his pants and shorts down his legs. "How much longer have we got?"

"Most of an hour, I think. Don't worry though – Marcus knows me." Andy patted the bed. "You just relax."

"Thanks." Ben made a half-hearted attempt at folding his pants and then stretched out on the bed. He gave a heartfelt sigh of content.

"So, you want me to go to the bathroom?" Andy asked.

"Hm? Why?"

Andy shrugged. "Some guys like me clean inside." He stood up and bent over. Ben could see the shining valley of his ass, and his hole, now reddened and slightly plump-lipped after being fucked. "Other guys like knowing what's up there."

Ben felt his cock tingle. The rest of him felt like he'd just run a marathon, but suddenly another bout seemed at least possible. "Come here," he said, stretching out his arms.

Andy laid down on the bed, but unwound Ben's arm from around his shoulders. "Save your energy, Tiger," he said, smiling. "You deserve a rest. I haven't been fucked that hard for months."

Ben nodded, accepting the compliment but not believing it. "Why did you say you're not into being fucked?" he asked.

"Hm?" Andy looked at him, head on one side.

"Well?" Ben pressed.

"Uh 3;," Andy shifted, suddenly seeming a bit uncomfortable. "Look," he said, "I don't want to talk out of turn, but it seems to me you're, well 3;" he hesitated, " 3;new to this. I don't mean you were no good, or anything," he added hastily, "but do you really want to know? A lot of guys don't, or at least prefer to pretend they don't. That way they can have whatever fantasy they want, see?"

"Ah." Ben nodded. "Thanks – you're a nice boy, Andy." Ben sighed. "I guess your name probably isn't Andy, but let's stay with it. Yeah, I want to know. You see, up till now, it feels like the whole rest of my life has been pretending. This evening, now, with you, feels like the first time I've ever been just me. I've decided reality's what I want."

Andy rolled his eyes. "Oh man. You're so in the wrong part of town. It's all stories here. Layer on layer of 'em."

"I don't understand."

"Look," Andy said, leaning closer. "When you first saw me, what did you think?"

"Hot damn!" said Ben, grinning, admiring the boy's lean beauty.

"No, idiot." Andy punched his arm playfully. "I mean if you had to describe me to someone else in just a couple words, what would you say?"

"Uh – cute blond skater-boy."

"Oh. Maybe I've gotta work on my attitude a bit more. See, I was aiming for straight blond skater-boy."

"Straight?"

"Uhuh." Andy nodded, his blond curls bouncing on his neck. "It's a big thing for a lot of guys – they really get off on it." He grinned. "All that fake reluctance thing. We can do gay-for-pay, or on-the-turn; I can be moody or, you know, stuck-up; or so-horny-I-just-can't-help-it. Lots of things."

"So what did we just do?" Ben wriggled closer on the coverlet.

"Uh – Rambo?" Andy said, pushing him back again. "You just wanted up my ass, basically. Too horny for mind games. See, it's now that the stories work – when you've got a bit of thinking time."

"Oh. But you're really gay, right?"

Andy face-palmed himself in an exaggerated display of patience. "That's what I've been saying," he said. "In here, I can be whatever you want."

"I want you to be truthful," Ben said.

"Okay, fine. Don't say I didn't warn you." Andy sighed. "Actually I'm straight. Happy now?

"Oh, don't look like that," he said, flapping his hand. "What, you think all straight guys walk around growling with their muscles in a flex? You gays are so prejudiced."

"But what we just did 3;"

Andy shrugged. "It's just sex."

"But you like it?"

Andy flushed and looked down. "I'd rather be plowing pussy. Anyway, Shelly doesn't mind – she knows it's part of the deal. We're going to college together," he said shyly. "I'm saving up for us. We're not sure if we should buy a car or not – when I'm old enough, I mean. It would put the savings plan back a while, but Shelly says it would mean more places to choose from."

"So you're going to be around here for a while, then." Ben felt his heart beat faster at the thought of seeing Andy a second time.

Andy looked at him, and shook his head sorrowfully. "You just don't get it, do you, Tiger?" He rolled over onto his side and leaned on one elbow. "Look, it's a lot better this way. No complications: you said you like boys, I like girls. You can have a whole lot of fun, but we know things won't get messy because we won't be involved." He shook his head again. "Jase has no end of trouble with that."

"Sorry?"

"Oh, shit." Andy's cheeks colored. "I didn't mean to say that. My younger cousin. We used to trick together before I got my growth spurt. Twin blond boy sluts – man, that was good money." He sighed wistfully. "But that's how I know, see? Oh sure, we both have Johns who get the hots for us and think it's love," he patted Ben's shoulder affectionately. "No offence. But while I can keep things from going blahooie, Jase is thinking with his balls and can't tell the nice guys apart from the knife-wielding psychos.

"Hell, just ordinary dumb-asses can be bad enough. I mean hardly a month ago this john suddenly called Jase a faggot, right to his face. Just out of the blue, for nothing. Now that's not going to bother me: the guy's just plain wrong as well as being a jerk. But Jase 3;" Andy shook his head sorrowfully. "He really takes all that shit to heart."

He smiled. "But that's enough about that. We've got the time, we've got the place, and at least one of us has got the inclination. What do you want to do to this poor straight boy?"

Part Two

"I don't want to do anything to you," he said. "I mean, not make you. And I can't think of anything a straight boy would want to do with a guy."

"See?" Andy said. "See where honesty gets you? Now you're all tangled up in your head trying to second-guess me. It's a waste of time. Time that you're paying for, too." He rolled over on the bed and stretched, yawning.

Ben felt strange. In a way this was familiar territory. He looked at Andy's lean body knowing he was unwelcome: that the boy's fantasies were normal ones of big-breasted nympho cheerleaders, not of hairy chests, big cocks and strong hands. He was a pervert; he was coercing this boy. Just because he was using money rather than muscle didn't make it any less a forced act.

"Hey." Andy was leaning over him. He smiled that enchanting crooked grin again. "Penny for your thoughts. Not that I need to spend it - you're doing guilt, right?"

"Yeah." Ben looked away, staring at the ornate wallpaper. "I'm fucking you up."

Andy chuckled. "Don't knock yourself, Tiger. I haven't had a good fuck like that for a while." Andy jiggled Ben's shoulder. "Look at me, come on. Don't hide away." He waited until Ben looked back at him. "I'm not gay," he said, "but I like sex. Sex with girls, sex with guys, it's all sex."

The boy's face was beautiful: as calm as the face of an angel, and as strong. Ben stared, drinking it in. "But you'd rather sex with girls."

Andy shrugged. "Yes and no. Thing is, most girls think they're doing you such a favor by opening their legs, it's insulting. Guys don't do that. And afterwards a lot of girls think they damned well own you, and it gets messy. Guys are more "see you around, buddy." It's cool." He sighed. "Roll over, Tiger. On your back."

Mystified, Ben did so.

Andy shuffled down the bed, leaned over Ben's flaccid dick, and licked along it. Ben drew breath to protest, but Andy tapped him sharply on the stomach. He licked at Ben's dick again, extending his tongue and tickling the sensitive head. Ben gasped as he felt the boy take his stiffening cock into his mouth.

The boy was lovely: a living sculpture. His smooth, tanned skin glowed, and his slender adolescent figure was wholly graceful. Ben watched the muscles in Andy's neck as he bobbed his head up and down, sliding the thick man-cock back and forth between his red lips, his cheeks hollowing every time he sucked.

Ben could feel the boy's expert tongue licking, prodding and teasing him. Feel too how the boy alternated using the ridged roughness of his hard palate and the softer flesh futher back to stimulate Ben's cock. As Ben got more excited, he thought Andy did as well; the boy encouraged him to thrust up off the bed into his mouth, slurping loudly on his hard rod. The boy took his hand away from Ben's cock, holding it captive only with his mouth, and Ben groaned at the sight, humping harder and faster between Andy's gleaming lips. He could feel the boy's drool running down over his balls; see it glistening on his bone hard shaft.

"God!" Ben gasped, balancing on shoulders, elbows and heels, arching and thrusting urgently up into the boy's teasing, suctioning mouth. "Fuck," he panted, "you're so good!" He could feel his balls tightening, an increasing urge -

"Look out!" he gasped, at the last frayed edge of control. "Gonna cum!"

He'd expected Andy to pull away, but the boy sucked him harder, and Ben arched his back, grunting as he shoved his cock deep and spurted into that hot wetness; shot after ecstatic shot as he clenched his fingers into the coverlet. Ben whimpered at the movements of the boy's soft mouth and tongue as he swallowed, gulping down his ball-juice as he spurted, trembling, again and again until he slumped, gasping, back onto the bed.

Andy sat up, and brushed his hair back into place. He smiled, his lips glossy with cum.

"I thought," Ben panted, "thought you'd want to pull back."

Andy grinned. "And I knew you didn't want me to. You wanted that nice big dick of yours kept warm while you spurted cum into my schoolboy mouth. Didn't you." It was a statemnt, not a question; his level gaze was a challenge.

"Yes," Ben admitted, finally. "But-"

Andy reached out and laid his finger across Ben's lips. "If guys like you didn't want to, I wouldn't get to go to college. So don't apologize, okay?"

"But you're a kid! You're supposed to be doing kid stuff!"

"What, playing Nintendo and getting fat?" Andy poked Ben in the side, his smile teasing. "Besides, who says dick-fun isn't kid stuff?"

"Er, pretty much everyone, I think," Ben said.

Andy shrugged. "So I'm in a minority. Last time I heard, that didn't make me wrong." He looked at the clock. "Time's getting on. So if you want to do anything else, you better do it now."

"Andy," Ben felt stupid, but he had to ask. "You did like what we just did, didn't you?"

Andy looked at him and smiled. Not his usual cocky little half-grin, but a real smile. He patted Ben's cheek tenderly. "You're a really nice guy, Tiger. Makes me wish I wasn't straight. I don't know why it's always me who meets the nice guys while Jase gets all the freaks." He shrugged. "Life's a bitch, I suppose. Yes, I did like it. I told you: I like sex, and sex with guys is still sex." He looked at the clock again.

Ben got the hint. "Uh," he said. "Uh, can I touch you?"

Andy blinked, visibly biting back some smart retort. "Sure," he said. "You want me to lie on my back?"

Ben nodded, unable to speak. His mouth was dry, and his hands were shaking. They felt hot and two sizes too large.

Andy stretched out on the bed, smiling. His expression was so kind and trusting Ben felt his heart would burst. He wanted to stroke the boy's neck, feel his shoulders and his smooth chest, run his fingers over the lean markings of his developing muscles. He wanted to brush his thumb over the boy's lips and feel him smile, stroke his cheek and slide his fingers over the sensitive skin behind his ear. He wanted to slip his arm beneath the boy's back and pull him close, feeling his breath against his collarbone and the slow beat of his heart. Wanted to feel the heaviness of Andy's body lying on him and the soft rhythm of his breath while he slept. He wanted to touch the boy.

He lay down next to Andy, close enough to feel the heat from his body. Andy blinked up at him, trusting, but stiffened when Ben slid his arm beneath the boy's neck.

"What?" Ben stroked Andy's shoulder, gentling him.

"Just be careful." Andy gave him a level look. "Remember where you are."

"Oh." Ben stroked his hand down over one of Andy's nipples. "I wasn't going to hurt you."

"Oh, brother." Andy rolled his eyes. "Of course you weren't. I wasn't worried about me. Anyway, we haven't got time for any kinky stuff now, even if you wanted to do it." He sat up, moving out of Ben's clumsy embrace.

"Can't I touch you?" Ben asked, aware he was begging.

"Sure," Andy said. He stood up and moved toward the chair where his clothes lay neatly folded. "You just got to put another dime in the meter, okay?" He looked sternly at Ben as he stepped into his undershorts.

"Oh, sure. Can I see you tomorrow?" Ben asked.

"Busy," Andy said, briefly. "The rest of this week, too." He slid his pants up his slender legs and paused in the act of buttoning them. "Look," he said. "I know you wanted me to be honest, but I don't have to be cruel, do I?" That enchanting little half-smile had returned to his face. "Anyway, even if you don't like stories, I like being a boy of mystery, okay?"

Ben laughed, although he felt his insides clench at the sudden cascade of images; of Andy doing what they'd just done together with other men: strangers.

"You're seeing a lot of other guys?" Ben knew it was a mistake the moment he said it.

Andy looked annoyed. "It's just sex, not some sort of holy fucking communion," he said. "Lighten up, okay? I don't go for that possessive crap."

"So when can I see you then?"

"Another time." Andy jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "There's plenty more chicken out there, go find it."

Ben's face must have shown the numb hurt he felt, for after a moment Andy's expression softened.

"I'm sorry. But we get a lot of crazies in this job, yeah? And big alarm bells for me is when a guy gets possessive. Before you know it they're checking up on what you say, leaving messages, following you around -" he flapped his hand, "- and it gets crazier, believe me." For a moment it looked like he was going to say more, but he didn't.

"Don't look like that." Andy took a step closer to the bed, and gripped Ben's shoulder. "C'mon. We can meet up again, but remember it's just for fun, okay?" He smiled that enchanting toothpaste-ad smile again. "Anyway, you don't want to go falling for straight boys: they're all heartbreakers, trust me. Hm?"

Ben nodded, and manufactured a smile in return. "Okay." He shrugged, trying for lightness. "Pick a date. My diary's pretty blank, right now."

"Good. Maybe the week after next, okay? I'll text you, if you like, or leave a message with Marcus."

Ben managed a shrug: "Whatever,"

Andy smiled at him like he'd passed some kind of test, and winked. "That's it, Tiger." He finished buttoning his pants and slipped his shirt on, his movements neat and efficient. Ben tried, and failed, to keep his eyes away from the boy's lean beauty as he dressed.

"I'll be in touch," Andy said as he scooped up his jacket on the way to the door. He opened it, and then paused to look back. He cocked his fingers like a miniature hand-gun and clicked his tongue behind his teeth, aiming at Ben. "Stay a stranger, okay?" he said, softly.

Then the door swung shut and he was gone.

*

Ben stood on the too-familiar top step outside the boarding house.

"There's still no message for me?" Ben asked.

"The young man has still left no message for you." Marcus said.

Ben wondered: had Marcus placed a faint emphasis on "you"?

The days after his session with Andy had dragged by. Ben had been aware that his work was suffering: he was hardly able to think of anything except Andy. The sight of him; the heat of his smooth lean body; the sound of his voice. The sex had been great, but it wasn't what Ben thought about. Well, not as often, anyway. The first week passed with no text from "Andy" and Marcus denied having any message from him either. Two weeks passed, and then another. Ben had checked his phone regularly but with diminishing hope as the three weeks became four.

Yet here he was, again. "He said he was going to send me a message."

Marcus raised both white, Santa Claus eyebrows. "And yet there is no word. Perhaps this is the message he wants you to get, don't you think?"

Ben leaned closer, feeling desperate. "Can I come in?"

Marcus half-closed the door. "You are not a member, sir. To join, you must be proposed by a member, and seconded by two more." He paused, looking up thoughtfully at Ben. "If I may be so bold, sir, your current conduct is not improving your chances of membership."

"What would improve my chances?" Ben hated that sound of weakness in his voice, but couldn't seem to help himself.

"We look for strength of character," Marcus said, his blue eyes cold. "Plus common sense, and a lack of selfishness."

"Plus a great deal of money," Ben added nastily.

Marcus nodded with irritating calm. "However, the lack of it can be offset by tact, sir. Goodbye." He closed the door.

Ben restrained himself from banging on the door. "Fine!" he said between his teeth. "Fuck you and your chicken sanctuary. I'll go find my own."

*

The sun beat in through the window, first on the driver's side, then the passenger side as Ben circled the grid. The hot air smelled harsh: of old, boiling coffee from the factory a few streets over. The light beat back diamond hard from the storefront windows and the windshields of the parked vehicles. Boys stood, pretending to read notices, or playing penny-toss, or just leaning on something, watching the traffic pass.

Boys with their shirts off. Boys with them on, half unbuttoned, or cut short. Boys in long pants that hung down in back, or short-shorts that clung like a second skin. Sun-blonded boys with peach-soft skins, pale punks with attitude, and dark, curly haired boys with eyes like sweet chocolate.

Ben drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he circled the grid. It was hopeless. It wasn't that the boys were ugly - he was sure they each had their individual charms. When he'd slowed at the intersections he'd seen the looks: bright keen eyes, - or a careful pose of indifference tempered with availability.

For his part he'd not been wholly indifferent; he'd seen the apricot afternoon sunlight glowing on the gentle curves of a boy's arm. The tightening of neck tendons beneath kissable skin as a head turned to follow his auto. His heart - and his dick - had responed to the careful positioning as a boy showed a lean waist or the curve of a tight-clad ass. They knew him: knew his type; knew he was there - but they weren't what he wanted.

He wanted Andy.

One more lap. He'd circle one more time and then choose a boy, any boy. He'd be thinking about Andy anyway, so what difference did it make if the boy was good looking or not? He'd be lusting for Andy's body: all lean, tendon strung; the feel of his smooth skin; imagining the scent as he kissed it, sweat-musty and sweet. What random boy could compete with that?

That one, Ben decided: the boy stood reading a notice. Dark haired and short, as different from Andy as possible. His black jeans hung low in back and his striped top didn't quite meet them, exposing a creamy strip of skin. Ben slowed the car and the youngster cocked a bright blue eye in his direction. His face was snub-nosed, heavily freckled - and not Andy's.

Ben slowed and leaned toward the window as if asking for directions. The boy came over. His quick, inquisitive gaze flicked Ben over from head to foot, assessing.

"Fifteen," was all the boy said.

Ben snorted. "No way you're fifteen. I'll give you a dollar for every hair you've got lower than your neck. Bet you I'd get change from a ten."

"It'll cost you that just to look for 'em, mister." The boy stared at him, one eye half closed, squinting against the sun. "You on?"

Ben lifted the handle and pushed the door open. "Let's ride while we talk it over."

"Neat." The boy grinned at him as he got in. He was by no means beautiful; not even pretty, but his perky attitude and the high treble of his voice had a charm all of their own.

"You didn't really think I was fifteen?" he asked as they drove off.

"No." Ben let go the steering wheel to waggle his hand. "About nine, right?"

"Nearly ten!" the boy protested. "I got my birthday next month. I'm gonna have a party at Mickey Dee's!" He wriggled on the seat, unable to contain his excitement.

"Jelly and ice-cream, huh? Is that what this is for?" Ben hung a right, following the block.

"Naaaw. My uncle Pete, he's paying for it. Only he's not really my uncle, you know?"

"Uh-huh." Ben felt a definite stirring of interest in his pants. "You do things together?"

"Sure we do. That's what this is for - his birthday's just two days after mine. I wanna get him a nice present. A good bottle of bourbon, maybe."

"Won't you have trouble buying that?"

The boy looked scornful. "Course not. I'll just suck some old guy and he'll buy it for me. That's twenty-five, by the way."

"For you sucking me?" Ben tried to concentrate on the road. There wasn't much traffic, but suddenly he was having trouble steering.

"Uh-huh, and I'll swallow everything, so you don't have to worry about mess." The boy's voice was cool and practical, with no trace of guilt.

Ben was feeling enough guilt for both of them. His cock was hard; just the thought of the small boy's mouth massaging it was unbearably exciting. But still - this was a little kid!

"Did your uncle make you do stuff?" Ben asked, feeling sick.

"That's private," the kid said. "I got to be careful, or he could get in trouble."

"Oh, sorry." Absently, Ben hung another right. The kid wasn't stupid. Maybe naive: mentioning to strangers about his uncle, but that wasn't the same.

The kid's voice interrupted his thoughts. "You don't want me?"

"What?" Ben looked over at the little kid, who gestured out of the window.

"We're going back to where you picked me up." The kid looked anxious. "You can touch me all over for fifteen, not just my dickie."

"Oh, right." Somehow that put a different complexion on it - having to actually reject the kid. "No, I want you."

Ben managed a companionable smile. "You know somewhere quiet we can go?" Ben wasn't too sure about his welcome at the boarding house, especially after the last encounter with Marcus.

The little imp had gone silent. When Ben looked over, the kid was eyeing him nervously. "What?"

Ben gestured toward the next right turn ahead. "Or you want me to drop you off?"

"I don't wanna go too far," the boy said. "There's a lot back of the furniture store, only we got to be quiet. People would hear if there was any yelling."

"Oh. Gotcha." Ben looked at his little companion with new respect. "But you don't need to worry about me - I don't like hurting boys. I'm Ben. What do you usually call yourself?"

"Mike," the boy said. "Or Mickey. You need to go left at the next junction, and then down the alleyway next the big yellow hardware store." He squirmed round in the seat to look at Ben directly, his top riding up to show his tummy. "You're new, aren't you? Pretty much everyone knows the lot. A lot of guys just go straight there."

"Yeah, that's right," Ben said, turning onto the street the boy had indicated. "I'm new around here." There it was: a big yellow sign - "Brandon's Budget Hardware." He slowed and turned down the narrow, trash-strewn alleyway. "There are boys who just work the lot, huh?"

"Hey!" Mickey said. "If you're dumping me, you have to drop me off back where you found me. Word gets around here, you know, if you're not nice."

"I'm not dumping you," Ben said. The dark brick of the alley walls pressed close, and the wheeled dumpsters made it narrower still, but he risked a glance aside at the boy. "Just relax, okay?"

"Oh, good." Mickey smiled. "It's just you haven't touched me or anything."

Ben smiled. "Don't worry - I'll touch you plenty in a minute."

The brick-walled alleyway ended and they emerged into a large lot. It was enclosed on three sides by the unlovely backs of commercial premises, but boys' shouts came loud from the fourth, where wire netting divided off a basketball court and a skateboard area.

Cars and commercial trucks were parked here and there; the lot seemed about a third full.

Ben looked over at Mickey. "Boy central, huh? How come you're not working it?"

Mickey half-lifted a small shoulder. "I do, sometimes." He looked quickly at Ben and then away again. "There's a good place," he said, pointing. "By the big trucks. It'll be private."

It was also the furthest point from the other kids, Ben noted. "Glad you trust me," he said.

"What?" Mickey looked puzzled.

"I thought you wanted other kids within call - with me being a stranger, and all that." Ben said as he pulled up next to a large removal van, and set the brake.

"Oh." The boy shrugged. "If you were a meanie, you'd know about the lot already, and wouldn't want to come here. The boys who work this place are real tight." He giggled. "Both ways." He looked at the back seat and then at Ben. "You want me to take my things off, or not? You still haven't said."

"I haven't?" Ben's cock was rock hard with anticipation. "I'd really like you to strip off, slowly, and then touch you all over, and finish off with sucking. That okay with you?"

Mickey grinned and held out a small hand, palm up. Ben counted forty dollars into it.

"You really are nice," Mickey said as he folded the money neatly and tucked it into his pants pocket. "Lots of guys argue and say they'll pay after."

"Oh? What do you tell them?"

"I don't - I just get out. Cheap johns like that are more trouble than it's worth." Mickey fiddled with the seat and then folded it forward so that he could climb over into the back. Ben found his eyes drawn to the boy's sagging black jeans.

They were loose-fitting, but as Mickey scrambled over the folded-down seat, he briefly saw the boy's neat little ass outlined. The jeans sagged down in back, and the thin white cotton of the boy's undershorts clung to his slender body. The broad elasticated band - stitched with "Jockey" over and over - hugged his tiny waist.

"You're really cute," Ben said, turning half around so he could see the boy on the back seat.

"Naaw," Mickey said dismissively. "I'd be working the lot, else." He began pulling his striped top off over his head.

There was no sign of muscle at all on the boy's chest. He looked soft: not fat, but unformed. A little thin, too - as though his body had been accidentally fitted with a skeleton a half-size too large. Ben could see the boy's bones beneath his smooth skin, but the effect wasn't grotesque. It was just that he seemed to see the whole of the boy's neat, tight-knitted frame, not just the envelope of his skin. His neck was slender and his stomach gently rounded. His nipples were mere pink goose-bumps.

Mickey pulled his head through the neck hole and tossed his top aside. "You want to sit on the folded-down seat, mister?" he said. "Then you could help me with my sneakers."

Ben climbed over and sat on the hard seat back, facing the boy. "When did you last change your socks?" he asked.

Mickey grinned. "Not a smell-freak, huh? 'S okay - I put 'em on clean before I came out, and I showered, too."

"Like for a date, almost," Ben said, then stopped, shocked at himself. Only a little while ago he wouldn't have considered a boy this age should know anything about dating.

Mickey rolled his eyes. "Boy, do you need a boyfriend, mister! You'd know the difference then, all right!" He pulled at the laces and eased one sneaker off, letting it thud to the floor.

"I would?" Ben felt happy, just watching the boy undressing.

"Sure you would." The other sneaker thudded down to join its companion. "I mean, when I'm going to meet my guy, I think about him all the time, and when I'm washing I'm thinking about him touching me, and when I'm choosing what to wear, I'm thinking about what he'll want to get off me fastest -" Mickey sighed happily and stared out the window, smiling to himself.

"I think your uncle Pete's a real lucky guy," Ben said.

Mickey jumped. "What? Oh." He sighed, and thumped a little fist against his head. "He'd be a lot luckier if I could learn to keep my mouth shut. One day I'm really gonna mess up." He looked directly at Ben. "You're one of us, aren't you? You're not going to tell."

"I won't tell," Ben said. "Anyone."

Mickey smiled, relieved. "Thanks," he said, un-snapping his jeans. "I get stupid when he's been away too long."

"Don't tell me too much," Ben said, watching as Mickey slid his jeans down. "Maybe I'm stupid, too."

"Horny, anyway," Mickey said, looking knowingly at Ben's crotch. "You want to show me?"

"Okay." Ben began unbuttoning his flies. He couldn't take his eyes off the boy sitting in his back seat, elbows on knees, legs casually spread, wearing just white ankle sport-socks and white cotton Jockey shorts. There was definitely more than just a bulge beneath that cotton: little Mickey was as hard as he was. Ben levered his hard cock out into the air, and Mickey sighed.

"You want to take your shorts off?" Ben asked.

Mickey stared at Ben's cock, mesmerised, "Sure," he said, then looked up at him, obviously dragging his gaze away from Ben's cock. "I just didn't know if you wanted to take 'em off me." He hooked his thumbs into his waistband and shucked them down. The little fingerlength of his hard dickie flicked up again as the waistband released it.

"You are cute," Ben said, admiring the boy's pale, hairless body. "I don't care if you disagree - I think you're lovely."

Mickey flushed. "You want me to suck you first? Only I reckon otherwise you might shoot off, accidentally." He looked up, an earnest expression in his blue eyes. "I'm not trying to get out of you touching me," he said. "Only you're nice, and I wouldn't want you getting in trouble with stains or anything."

"Oh yeah." Ben felt his cock twitch. "You said you'd swallow. Okay then." He spread his legs apart, and Mickey slid down to kneel in the footwell.

"Mmmm." Mickey said, staring at Ben's cock. He licked his lips.

"You like it, huh?"

"Yeah." Mickey said. "Big and fat." He leaned forward and looked into Ben's open fly. "Lots of hair, too," he added. "Neat! I bet your balls are really big, as well."

"You like hair?" Ben asked, surprised.

"Sure! I like guys, not boys." Mickey patted Ben's waist. "You're skinnier than most, but it's okay."

"Thanks," Ben drawled, and Mickey looked up, contrite.

"Sorry," he said. "I was forgetting. It's just I like cuddly guys - no offence."

"It's okay." Ben ruffled the hair at the back of Mickey's neck, and then stroked his shoulder. "I'm not offended. It's good you know what you like."

Mickey smiled, his kid-teeth like little pearls. "It sure helps," he agreed. He reached out and ran his little forefinger down Ben's throbbing meat, tracing a vein down from just below the swollen head and then stroking the hair that poked out of Ben's fly. He giggled as Ben's cock twitched. "Please mister," he said, "will you just unfasten your pants so I can see?" He looked up. "It's okay: it's safe here."

"Sure." Ben couldn't resist the pleading in those blue eyes. He tugged open his belt and then unbuttoned his jeans and shorts.

"Neat," the boy breathed. He stroked Ben's pubes and his lower stomach. "Can I feel your balls too? Uncle Pete likes me holding his while I suck him."

Ben just smiled and spread his legs.

Mickey dived both hands into Ben's shorts like he was unpacking his favorite toybox. "Yeah!" he said with obvious satisfaction, cradling Ben's balls in his little hands. "All big and hairy."

He leaned down and kissed the tip of Ben's cock, then lapped the bead of pre-cum off with just the tip of his pink tongue. "Mmmm!"

Mickey looked up, smiling wickedly and licking his lips, spreading Ben's pre-cum like lip salve. He leaned forward and kissed the tip of Ben's cock, holding it against the warmth of his slick lips. He opened his mouth, a little boy's mouth: surely too small for his big, throbbing meat, Ben thought. Wider, stretching his mouth open, and then leaning forward; taking almost the whole of Ben's wide cockhead inside. His lips rested just on the flaring ridge, and Ben felt the little tickle of the boy's tongue just below his piss-slit.

The feel of the boy's hot mouth excited him, but not as much as the sight of the boy kneeling in front of him, submissive, trusting and excited.

Ben groaned as he felt Mickey's expert tongue writhe against his cockhead, and then the boy took more into the hot cave of his little mouth.

"Go on," Ben whispered. "Go on."

Mickey leaned forward, and Ben felt the boy's squirming tongue against the underside of his cock as the boy slid his mouth down. The slightly rough feel tingled down the length of his cock to his balls.

Ben gasped Mickey sucked and felt his cockhead swell in the slick warmth of the boy's mouth. "Mmm!" he grunted as Mickey began moving his mouth up and down. "Oh! Oh! You're good!"

Mickey was only moving his head a little, in a gentle nodding motion. From the jigging of the boy's smooth little shoulder, Ben guessed he was rubbing his little pricklet too.

"Mmm! You like that!" Ben said, smiling. "I can tell."

"Mmmm!" Mickey hummed assent as he took more of Ben's cock into his mouth, sending lovely vibrations through its hard length. To Ben, Mickey's tongue; his lips; his whole mouth felt one caress: sucking and slippery hot. He sucked harder, writhing his tongue over Ben's prick, hollowing his cheeks.

Ben stared at the red ring of the boy's stretched lips, disbelieving as the boy took more hard man-cock into that little mouth - almost half of his pole was now slippery-shining as it slid back and forth.

Ben could feel his cock bumping against the soft pressure of the back of the boy's mouth: he'd never felt so hard. Each slurping, vacuum suck felt better than the last: exquisite torture as the boy sucked harder, faster.

The boy's eyes were now tight closed as he pumped his mouth up and down on Ben's cock. He was breathing faster now, little grunts that fuelled Ben's own excitement; the rhythm accelerating.

"Yes! Oh, yes!" Ben gasped, clenching his fists on his thighs. His balls ached, heavy and full, but not as much as his cock as the boy pistoned his slick, sucking mouth, faster and faster until -

"G- c'm!" Ben grunted, a bare heartbeat before the first convulsion shot his sperm the aching length of his hard cock. "UHHH!"

He felt the boy gulp it down; he groaned at the sensation, arching his hips as he felt his cock spurt again, gasping as the spurts continued, shooting into the boy's slick, hot mouth.

"Ahh!" Ben gasped again and grabbed the seat for balance. He felt utterly done.

Mickey released Ben's glistening cock and looked up. "You okay, mister?"

"Sure," Ben said. "I just forgot I was sitting on the seat-back, is all."

"Tried to lean against it, huh?" Mickey stayed squatting in the footwell and grinned up at him. "Don't worry, I would have let go your balls."

"Thanks for that!" Ben said, steadying himself. "I guess I'm not the first, maybe not even the first dozen, huh?"

Mickey giggled. "I ain't saying, but yeah. Cuddly guys I make get in the back seat, ever since Mister Whipple nearly got stuck."

"Mister Whipple?" Ben smiled at the sticky-faced little boy. Mickey was still fondling his balls, stroking and twining the hair about his little fingers.

"Oh, the boys call him that on account of he shoots a lot of cream. He likes to shoot on my face though, so it can get kinda messy. Bobby says he never needs to buy hair-gel. You gonna climb in the back seat now?"

"The back seat?" Ben was still distracted by the mental image of his cock shooting cum-pearls over Mickey's cute little freckles. Of the boy rubbing the wet cock-head over his cheeks and along his jaw, finally lapping daintily at the last, milky dribble pulsing from the slit.

"Oh." The little boy's face fell. "It's okay. You don't have to do touching if you don't want to."

Ben patted the boy's shoulder. "'Course I want to - I was just off in cum-land, you know?" Something in his throat caught at the way the boy immediately brightened, slipping his hands out of Ben's shorts and patting his dick affectionately.

Ben clambered into the back seat and Mickey sat on his lap. The boy's eyes were almost exactly level with Ben's own.

"Can I put my arm round your shoulders?" Mickey asked.

"Sure, I'd like that." Ben stroked the boy's shoulder and then down his side, bare skin like silk beneath his fingertips.

Mickey leaned against him heaved a sigh that seemed to come up from his toes.

The heavy warmth of the boy's company felt exactly right to Ben. He slid his arm around Mickey's back: the boy's size meshed with some unarticulated need, filling a numb vacancy Ben had been accustomed to feeling all his life. He wrapped both arms around Mickey, stroking the boy's shoulder, his side, his hip. Mickey's boy-proportions felt exactly as they should be. He stroked one hand up to Mickey's neck and pulled the boy's head down comfortably against his shoulder.

Ben kissed the crown of the boy's head before he realized that perhaps he shouldn't. "Is that okay?" he asked, half-fuddled by the heady boy-fragrance he was breathing. "Only I feel like I'm in Uncle Pete's territory, if you know what I mean."

"'S okay," Mickey said, his voice muffled as he snuggled closer. "He won't mind." He moved a little, and Ben relaxed his hug slightly.

Mickey looked up at him, staring at him for three whole heartbeats.

"What?" Ben said. "You okay?"

"Yeah. I'm just fixing it in my mind that you ain't Uncle Pete, see? You feel a whole lot like him."

"Thank you." Ben said, humbled. "You miss him an awful lot, don't you?"

"Yeah." Pain showed in Mickey's face. "Sometimes he's gone whole weeks."

"It's a long time when your heart's hurting." Ben cradled Mickey's head onto his shoulder again. "Do you have to go Uncle Pete hunting a lot?"

"Yeah." Mickey sighed warmly against Ben's neck. "You want to touch me some more? You can, anywhere, only not inside me, okay?"

"Okay." Ben stroked the boy's back. "I'll think of your asshole as having a little 'Reserved for Uncle Pete' sign just above it, huh?"

Ben slid a hand down to cup a smooth little asscheek, and then stroked his thumb in a little curve across the base of the boy's spine. "About there, do you think?

Mickey giggled and kissed Ben's collarbone.

Ben felt that kiss radiate through him. He didn't wonder any longer at why men risked everything to share their lives with boys: he just regretted the years he'd wasted sitting alone in the dark.

"Thank you, Mickey," he whispered.