Date: Sun, 04 Jul 2010 21:46:38 +0100
From: tooluser@hushmail.com
Subject: Brave enough part 1

			   Brave Enough, part 1
		       Copyright Tooluser June 2010


This story is fiction, and no resemblance to actual persons either living
or dead is intended.


                        * * *



"Pssst! Hey, Mister!"

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 Shackelton 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-" 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-," he said,
beginning to stand up.

"Please -" 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.


                          ***


Ben 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 -"

"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 -"

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...

"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 -

- 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 -," 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 -"
he hesitated, "- 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 -"

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 -" 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?"


End of part one.


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