Date: Tue, 15 Jan 2002 19:47:14 +0000
From: Java Biscuit <javabiscuit@hotmail.com>
Subject: willow, chapter eight

This is a story involving teen/boy, adult/youth, male/male
graphic sex and not intended for reading by minors. If
you are underage, or this type of material is illegal where
you live, please stop now, and go read something else!
This is a completely fantasized story meant only for the
purpose of pleasurable reading. It's not meant to
encourage unsafe, unprotected sex, or to condone sex
with minors. These people aint real.

Feedback: javabiscuit@hotmail.com

Willow ~ chapter eight

by Biscuit


Fucking Willow was like finding the Holy Grail.

Getting fucked by Leon was like having sex while
trying to take a huge dump.

I know that some guys like that feeling; prostate
going crazy, their asses stuffed and stretched around
a big dick. For me it was like an iron man challenge
that I hung in with, knowing I'd get off eventually.
There was always a time in the midst of it when
the discomfort leveled off and I'd get this all over
bursting aroused feeling, like I was going to piss, shit
and come, all at the same time. It was very intense to
get off like that. But just for the sex, I'd never have
done it. The destination was fine, but I didn't enjoy
the ride.

Of what was good about it, there was the charge I
got out of how much Leon loved it. He was so into it,
so turned on, that I got hot, like a contact high.

He was grateful, and he made me feel like I was
doing something so good for him, that I never turned
him down. Plus, to be honest, I didn't want him to
even think about fucking Willow.

He must have thought about it. But he didn't do it.
That's what Willow told me, and I believed him.

Willow was a virgin, in the sense that no one had
actually fucked his ass. But the word didn't have a
lot of meaning in terms of what had been done to
him. That was the summer that I'd learn about some
of those things. The walls were coming down.

My dick was no monster like Leon's, but still, it
was a healthy six inch cock and I worried about
hurting Willow, like Leon hurt me. On the other
hand, Willow wasn't the kind of kid to do a blessed
thing he didn't want, at least with me, so when he
wanted me to fuck him, I hesitated about as long as
it took to roll a rubber on.

Almost as good as being inside him, was finally
being allowed to hold him. Wrapping my arms
around him, with my dick buried in his warm
backside was better than anything I'd ever felt in
my life. We used to do it on our sides, him with
his head on my arm and my other hand free to
roam over him. It amazed me how much he liked
it. His cock would be as stiff as a wooden peg and
it seemed like he could keep coming, like a girl,
more than once.

We spent a lot more time talking that summer
than we ever had before. At fifteen, Willow found
me either trustworthy enough, or grown up enough,
to open up to.

He began to tell me things about Oliver, among
other things. Stories that sometimes made me feel
like my mom must have felt when she thought of my
grandfather touching me, as if I wanted to find him
and hurt him. Only, unlike her, I'm sure, I also got
aroused by those stories at times, even when they
made me feel bad.

I remember trying to hide that I was getting turned
on and Willow getting impatient with me.

We were inside, in the cottage, on a day that any
sane boys would have been at the beach. But it was
a day we had to ourselves and neither one of us
wanted to go further than that unmade bed where
we'd been since Leon left us alone together. It
wasn't just to have sex that we wanted to be there.
It was to be alone together. To talk without being
overheard by anyone.

Willow's hair had grown in from the summer
before. Still short but not shaved, with a top knot
of hair like a cockscomb. Most of his stories were
told after fucking and sometimes I'd play with that
long lock of hair while I listened. He'd curl up next
to me to talk. When he told me stories, he liked to
look at me, or be touching me, have me touch him.
Looking back, I think it was a grounding thing,
rooting himself in the present while he wandered
through his past.

"A lot of men like dog games," he told me that day.
"Not just him. I had little collars for parties. One
of them was black, with red stones. I had a gold one,
and a red one with studs on it."

Looking at him, warm and fucked looking, lying
in the tangled white sheets, his skin seeming more
brown than ever from the sun, I pictured him with
a small dog's collar around his neck and my dick
stirred.

"I had a pillow to sit on, until he'd call to me, or
signal me. Different signals," he sighed, his dark
fingers plucking at the sheet between us. Then he
lifted his hand and pointed one finger down. "That
meant to come to him and sit in the first position.
Up on my heels with my hands up, and my knees
open. Mostly, though, at the parties, what he wanted
was for me to go around to the different men and
show off what he'd taught me. I'd sit up on my heels
between their legs and lick them. They liked it when
I'd hug their legs and rub my cock on them."

That was when I tried to twitch the sheet up a little
to hide that I was getting hard. Of course he saw it.

"Don't do that" he said, tugging the sheet away.

"Sorry," I said, not knowing what else to say. My
cock had its own idea about Willow humping a
guy's leg and it was liking it. Sick.

"So what if it turns you on?" he said, like he was
mad at me, but not for getting a hardon. "It turned
me on. You think I didn't like doing those things?"

"I don't know," I said, and couldn't tell what was
making him mad. I almost flinched when he put his
hand down and curled his fingers around my
cock.

"I was proud of myself," he said. The stern look
on his face was so confusing. My usual tack,
silence, was my refuge.

So ill-equipped, I was so ill-equipped to respond.
What I'd thought he wanted from me, telling those
stories, was sympathy, but it wasn't. He knew his
childhood shocked me, but it was his. The more
calmly I took what he told, I'd learn, the better.
My silence was enough to make him relax again,
and his small hand stayed on me, holding my
nervous dick.

"Sometimes it was scary," he said, "like with the
real dog." He looked away from my face, down to
my hard flesh in his hand. "A little Lhasa, like a
mop. I think it was as freaked out as I was. I didn't
know it then, but I think so now. It got excited and
I got scared. It started humping me, but it never
got inside me. Poor dog. Oliver wanted me to see
how a real dog humped when it got aroused.
Everything was a lesson."

Willow the soldier, Willow the student, that's how
he saw those things. To me, it seemed like he'd been
used as a pet or a sex toy. To Willow, it was just his
life. Filled with lessons and training and drills. His
notion of himself as a soldier came from Oliver.
He lectured him on discipline and honor in
performing tasks correctly. Willow studied music,
and dance, and of course, how to manipulate a man
to orgasm using his hands and his mouth.

And reading, which he adored although what he
read was strictly supervised and mostly pornographic.

Willow remembered nothing before Oliver. The
man told him nothing about where he'd come from
or how he'd come to have him. He'd woven a lot
of different theories for himself, but didn't really
believe in any of them.

He liked to look at pictures of Chinese people which
is why Leon had bought him so many books about
China. We looked through them together, sometimes,
searching for faces that resembled his, like looking
for clues about where he came from.

I would also find out that summer that part of the
reason Willow took an instant dislike to Manny
Whaite, was that he reminded him of Oliver.

"Oliver didn't look like him, not really. But he
was like a lot like your grandfather, looking around
and seeing everything as his. His boat, his grandson,
his whatever that guy was, fisherman. And I could
tell he didn't want me there."

The great event of Willow's life, was the night
that Leon took him. Leon was everything that his
Daddy Oliver wasn't. Silly. Big. And bountifully
affectionate. He was a regular, for a short time,
at the poker games that Oliver hosted. Gambling
was another of Oliver's passions, and parties.

"He didn't like Leon," Willow told me, "but he
invited him because Leon always had drugs and
he was a very good card player, and of course, he
liked boys."

Leon had a boyfriend then, according to Willow,
almost too old for that group. He was fourteen, a
kid who still lived with one of Oliver's friends who
took care of him even though he wasn't sexually
attracted to him anymore. The boy hung around
the beaches outside the hotels. That's where he met
Leon, and word spread. That kid's name was Jeremy.
Anyway, that's how Leon got to be invited the first
time. After that, even though Jeremy wasn't with
him anymore, he got asked back because Oliver
loved to win against him. It drove him crazy, Willow
said, how often Leon won. Oliver thought Leon was
stupid, everybody did, just like I thought he was. But
I guess nobody could tell when Leon had good cards
or not, he was always the same, Willow said. He'd
boast about how great his hand was, or moan, and
was so comical that no one could read him.

The stories took me to a world I could hardly
imagine. As exotic and fascinating as Willow
himself. I'd gotten fond of Leon, but seeing him
through Willow's eyes I understood so much
better, what he meant to him.

I picture little Willow, naked under a grand table
where naked men are playing cards. Scampering
from one man to another pretending to be a playful
dog. Most of them just spread their legs wider,
maybe sink a little in their chairs when he sniffs at
their dicks and starts to lick them. He told me that
Leon's huge legs and cock were the biggest he'd
ever seen.

Telling me the story, the same day he'd scolded
me for trying to hide my dick, he played with it
while he was talking. Not trying to make me come,
not for awhile anyway, just keeping it in his warm
fingers. It was almost like a dream to be in bed
for so long, listening to him. The cottage was hot.
Just a table fan going, swinging back and forth to
move the hot air.

"Leon was the only one who ever reached down
and grabbed me. He was laughing and he pulled
me out from under the table. 'Let me get a look
at this mutt' he said, holding me up in the air."

He'd put Willow in his lap, fussing over him,
telling him he might be a puppy but he sure as fuck
wasn't a dog. He'd held him long enough to start
pissing off the other players who were waiting for
him to ante up. And Oliver, most of all, who didn't
like the guests to take any initiative in touching
Willow.

"Leon was so bad. And I loved how bad he was,
even though it made me nervous. Nobody else got
away with what he did. Nobody even tried."

Willow started looking forward to those card
games just to see Leon, the only man he'd ever
encountered who openly defied Oliver. And he
started to devise special caresses, just for him.

"I wanted him to know I liked him, even if I
couldn't say it or show it where Oliver could see
me. I wasn't supposed to use my hands, but with
Leon I would cheat and pull that big shaft of his
down and put my whole mouth on it instead of just
licking him. He never game me away. It was the
only way I could think of to show him I liked him."

Willow stopped, his hand which had gotten still on
my cock, starting moving slowly, his black eyes
burning into mine. "That's the only way I knew
how."

Was he telling me it was the same with me? Is
that why he'd done those things to me the first
summer? Why he was doing them now?

"Like with me?" His feathery brows went up.

"You?" he said, eyes widening. "Boy are you
dumb," he said, but he was starting to smile and
the pads of his fingertips played a tattoo on the
underside of my cock that made me groan. Then
he let go of it, and he turned on his back, his
knees bending up slowly. "Put that stupid face
between my legs," he said. He was so amused,
and aroused!

I saw his cock was swollen up to its, by then,
proud three inches of suckable wood. His tanned
skin was brown, but the vague triangle around his
cock was a coppery tea with milk color.

"Why am I dumb?" I wasn't insulted, not really
insulted, how could I be with him smiling at me
and spreading his legs? I turned around in the
sweaty wrinkly sheets, my hand already reaching
for his cock, but looking at him to explain himself.

"You think I see you, like I see Leon," he laughed,
"Daddy Tom."

I wanted him to, that much was for sure, most of
the time. I wanted him to see me as a man. To take
Leon's place as the person he fussed over, who
always got his attention first.

But his cock was right there, rising up from his
sweat damp crotch, smelling of sex and making my
mouth water. However the hell he was seeing me,
it had to be in a good way, or he wouldn't be waving
that chubby sprout under my nose. I didn't push for
any more explanation. I'd get one later and in the
meantime I'd have my way with his body. I sucked
him slowly, to show him I wasn't so dumb, wanting
to erase every other hand and mouth that had ever
touched him before me.

The explanation that he finally gave me, about my
stupidity, turned my idea of our history together
upside down. That was when I learned that Willow
saw me as another kind of creature altogether from
the men he'd known. A boy. An indulgence, a luxury
he couldn't afford, wasn't old enough to claim. He
told me he'd thought I was the cutest boy he'd ever
seen, the very first morning I'd picked him up from
the sand.

"I wanted to be a daddy," he laughed at me, "and
have you for my boy. I wanted to die when your
dog knocked me over and you saw my fear, and
how small I was."

Little by little, he'd let himself have me. Like the
soldier he was, in disciplined measures. All that
time that he didn't let me touch him, he was trying
to be a like some ideal daddy to me! Asking nothing
for himself. And always Leon behind him, urging
him to give in, to be my friend, not to take it all so
seriously. Oh God, Daddy Willow!