Date: Mon, 15 May 2006 07:00:17 -0700 (PDT)
From: Jess Sudhir <jesssudhir@yahoo.com>
Subject: White Trash - A Boy and His Dog

White Trash 1: A Boy and His Dog
by Jess Sudhir

"Hey you!" someone shouted.

I looked up and saw a boy biking towards me.  With my keen eye for
convention, I noticed immediately that he was on a girl's bike that was a
size too large.  He was about my age, a white boy with blond longish hair,
wearing a pair of ratty blue jean cutoffs, and little else.  He was
shirtless, which showed off a tight skinny chest of perfect smoothness and
color.

When he was sure he had my attention, he started to show off, first by
pedaling no-handed, and then by leaning back and reaching up with one dirty
bare foot to steer to a crash landing right next to me.

"You new around here?" he said.  "We don't get many n-- I mean black kids
here."

That was an understatement.  My mother and I were probably the only black
people for miles around.  It was only a year ago I had lived in a nice
middle-class black suburb a few hundred miles away. I still wasn't sure how
I had ended up in this redneck trailer park, living with an alcoholic
hillbilly stepfather.  I suspected my mother of being similarly confused,
and probably my stepfather as well.

"Yeah," I said.

His dark blue eyes studied me so intently, I began to get nervous.  "Want
to see something?" he asked.

"Okay," I said.

He unbuttoned his jeans and tugged them open enough that I could see a
ragged cloud of blond hairs springing out of his fly.  "Pubes," he said.
"I got them a month ago.

"I'm sure my jaw dropped open.  "What about you?" he said.  "You got
them?"I'd had mine close to a year, but I kept my mouth tightly closed.
Where I was from, hairs "down there" weren't something you talk about.

"That's okay," said my new friend consolingly.  "You'll get them soon.  I
sure wish you had them tho'.  I always wanted to see n-- I mean black
people pubes.

"Regretfully, he buttoned his jeans closed again.  He was still standing
very close to me, and staring at me with that unsettling stare.  "You want
to come to my house?" he asked.

I shrugged.  Anything was better than hanging around here, where I'd
eventually have to go back inside and see my stepfather sleeping off last
night at the bar.

*****

Skip was his name, and "Skep" was how everyone in his family pronounced it.
He lived in an old double-wide.  It was dark and messy inside, and had a
strong scent that I would one day learn to identify as stale pot.  As we
headed in the front door, we were greeted by an enthusiastic mutt of
indeterminate ancestry.

"Hey Buddy!  Hey!" said Skip.  He grabbed the dog by the collar and pulled
it into a side room.

"Come in here," he said.  "I wanna show you something cool."

A little reluctantly, I followed Skip into a dirty room with pictures of
cars on the walls.  "Watch this," said Skip.  "Lie down!"

As I watched, the dog lay down on its back.  At first, I thought the trick
was over, but then I saw Skip reach down between the dog's hind legs, to
where there was a furry shaft.  As the dog yelped and whined, he grabbed
the shaft, and began running his hand back and forth along it.  A moment
later a hard red rod began to thrust itself out of the shaft.

"Pretty cool, huh?" said Skip.

I didn't say anything.  I was half-horrified, half-fascinated.  As I
stared, the dog's prick thurst itself out to its full length and began
leaking liquid.

"Want to try?" said Skip.  The question broke my trance.

"No!" I said.  "That's disgusting.

"Skip looked worried.  "He likes it!" he said.  "It feels good... he don't
have no hands so I help him out.

""I have to go," I lied.  "My mom's expecting me home."

My mother was at work, and I wasn't expecting her home until late.  But it
was all too intense for me.

Skip walked me to the door, and grabbed my shoulder as I left.

"Hey, come back anytime," he said. "I think we can be friends.

"I ran all the way home, and when I got there, to my own surprise, I locked
myself in my room and jerked off, over and over again.  I kept on thinking
about Skip masturbating the dog, and imagining it was me he had his hands
on.  Just the thought of it was enough to get me hard all over again.

*********

That pretty much set the pattern for the rest of the summer.  Skip and I
would hang out, and sooner or later he'd do something weird and sexual.
While I was there, it would freak me out, but afterwards, I'd think about
it over and over.  The next day I'd be back at his place, ready for
something new.

It never occurred to me to try and figure out what he was getting out of it
from his end.  From the start, something about me had fascinated him.
Maybe it was just the color of my skin.  He talked about it all the time,
how he liked how deep brown and smooth it was.  I remember one day in his
roon, when he put his arm right up against mine, so we could compare his
pale and freckled skin tones to my dark chocolate.

"Look at this," he said, grabbing my hand and pressing it against his tight
boy's chest.  "That looks kinda cool, don't it?  Your black fingers on my
white skin?"When I didn't immediately stop him, he pushed my hand lower and
lower until it was poised right above the button on his shorts.  When he
spoke, his voice was all husky.

"I want you to feel somethin'"He pushed my hand lower, and I felt him
bulging out as hard as a rock underneath the fabric.

"I got a boner," he explained needlessly.  "Feel it.

"The part of me that was well-brought-up felt a need to say something
polite.

"It's very stiff," I ventured.

"Ain't it tho'," he said proudly.  "Looks like yours is too.

"Before I could stop him, he put out a hand toward my own dick, which
indeed was standing at painful attention in my jeans.

"No," I said.  "Don't do that!"

I pushed his hand away, but it was too late.  I had already exploded right
through my briefs, and felt cum dripping down my leg.  I was too repressed,
and it had all been to close to my fantasies for me to take it.  It was the
first time anyone had ever touched my dick other than me.

"I gotta go!" I said hurriedly.

The uncomfortable denim pants had become my unexpected salvation.  The
material was too tough for there to be a tell-tale wet spot yet, but I
didn't know how long my luck would last.

Why was I so eager to hide my reaction?  Skip would have been delighted to
know I had blown my load.  Yet somehow, I felt the obligation to be the
good boy in our pairing.  It was perfectly okay for him to practice bizarre
perversions of every stripe --I chalked it up to his race and breeding.
But I was terrified of showing any hint that I might be enjoying it at all,
or ever lusting in return.  Thinking back on it, I curse the stupidity of
youth.  How many nights did I abuse my aching rod with feverish fantasies,
when all the while a boy of warm flesh-and-blood was only a couple of
trailers away.

Of course, all that would soon change.

--------------------------------

Thanks for reading.  I hate dividing stories up, but this one is too long
for one installment... I think there will probably be three in this series
--featuring some of the nastiest stuff I've ever written about!

I enjoy receiving fan mail and pics, so keep 'em cummin'!  I've been
writing for nifty for 3 years, and I specialize in youth and interracial
themes.

You may also enjoy:

farmboys and ghettoboys   /gay/interracial/farmboys-and-ghettoboyz/
day of the boner   /bisexual/highschool/day-of-the-boner/
the virgin   /gay/interracial/the-virgin/

Or, look for me on the frequent authors' page under Jess Sudhir.