Date: Thu, 05 Jul 2001 06:03:13 -0400
From: lesli 99 <lesli99@hotmail.com>
Subject: Adult-Youth  Young Times Pt 21

Young Times
Part 21


My relationship with Mr Johnson was like nothing I had ever known before.
On one hand it reminded me of my conservatory affair with Tom.  They were
both older, and I felt comfortable with both in charge of the relationship.
They both seemed to genuinely care for me, but I may have been wrong about
that.  At least that's the way it seemed.

But Mr Johnson was married and very straight.  By straight, I
mean......well, I did things to him, but he never even hinted at
reciprocation.  That made him straight, in my opinion.  I had a lot to
learn about men.

Mrs Johnson was young and attractive.  Beautiful, in my mind.  Everything
Mr Johnson had wanted in a woman, that's why he married her.  But her
drawback, if one can be criticized for it, was her religious beliefs.
While she approved of sex, it was an approval that carried certain
restrictions, and that was at the heart of Mr Johnson's dilemma.  He, it
seems, had an appreciation - a need he called it - for the more esoteric
forms of sexual expression.  Simply put, he enjoyed having his dick sucked.
And as he told me, the only thing he liked better than having someone suck
him, was to have someone suck him off.

And, you guessed it, Mrs Johnson would have absolutely none of that.
Perverted she called it, and that was the end of that.  Undaunted, in a
manner of speaking, Mr Johnson resorted jerking off to porn videos until
that too lost excitement.  He then took the next step, making the three
hour trip to the closest city and engaging the services of a streetwalker
who gave oral service in return for $50.  But that had practical
limitations, the distance and money, so he sought something local.  Well,
ours was a small town, relatively speaking, in a bible belt of sorts,
devoid of prostitutes.

Which led him to the bus station.  There, with increasing frequency, he got
his rocks off thru one of the glory holes into some willing cocksucker's
mouth, satisfying his needs on a monthly, weekly, and finally a daily
basis.  The only problem was a gnawing fear that he would be caught.
Exposed.  And for a school teacher in a small town, that's like committing
suicide.

So, out of necessity, I came to fit Mr Johnson's needs to a tee.  And he
mine.  But, in that filling of mutual needs, I came to lose track of myself
and my way forward.  And in losing track, I started, or was placed, down a
road that would lead farther and farther from what I had been taught to
believe as decent.

The relationship had a mind spinning beginning with constant opportunities
for sex.  So constant, in fact, that I stopped pinning for the 'good old
days' at conservatory.  I was sneaking out almost every night of the week
now, trying not to be seen as I waited at our prearranged rendezvous two
blocks down from my house.  His car would appear, drifting slowly down the
street toward the middle of the block, at that spot where the streetlights
at either end of the block didn't reach.  I would dart from my hiding place
behind the large oak tree as soon as his car was abreast of it, pulling the
door open and sliding in the passenger's seat.

And it was always the same.  Routine and exciting at the same time.  He
would drive, quiet at first, then the small talk, then he would open up,
his hormones working in overtime as he talked about sex with me.  What he
was going to do to me, what he wanted me to do to him.  Always the same.
Always exciting.  By the time he found a safe parking spot (and we
exhausted every opportunity those first few weeks) we were both in a state
of excitement that could only be relieved by doing what we had come there
for.  And it was always the same, I started by massaging him, giving him a
slow gentle handjob that always ended when he brought his hand to the back
of my head and forced me down on his stiff pole.  'Forced' isn't entirely
accurate.  He guided me.  He couldn't have forced me, or stopped me, if he
wanted to.  I was as hot as he was, and I bent to my task with an
enthusiasm and hunger that surprised even me at times.  And it always ended
the same, his hot spunk filling my mouth til I could take no more,
swallowing as he continued to fill me, until the spurts died down to a
trickle as I sucked him dry.  And clean.  I had learned to use my talented
tongue to clean every bit of semen from his cock. The more I cleaned the
more I swallowed, until finally he was drained and I was filled.

An interesting exchange of semen.  But that was all.  Silent usually, he
drove me back to where he had picked me up and bade me a goodnight.  And
thanks.  As I made my way back to my house and slipped thru the open window
into my bedroom the taste of semen was always strong in my mouth, reminding
me what it was all about.

I suggested, more than once in the heat of a particularly wild and
energetic blow job, that he fuck me, but the answer was always the same no.
And I went back to my sucking, wishing, hoping that the answer would some
day be yes.

When it came, it wasn't at all as I suspected.

He had a 'friend', an out of town visitor who was staying at a local motel.
One of the few in our small town.  And his friend was lonely, with nothing
to do.  And he....well he wondered if I would be 'nice' to his friend.
Provide him some company.  And he would 'really, really appreciate' it if I
would do this for his friend.  Just this one time?  He was so sincere, and
I was so.....well, I'll admit it.....I was so in love with him that the
request seemed something I could do to prove something or other to him.  So
I agreed.

He dropped me at the motel with instructions to knock on the door to room
157, where his friend was staying.  He would be expecting me.  So, with not
the least bit of trepidation, or hesitation, I made my way to room 157 and
a rendezvous that I would come later to realize was much, much more than it
seemed at the time.

I don't remember much about his friend, time has tended to blur the exact
images of the evening.  I do remember he seemed nice enough, and he offered
me a glass of whatever it was he was drinking, bourbon I think it was, and
we sat in that uncomfortable time, trying small talk, until finally he
exposed himself to me and I got on my knees in front of him and sucked his
cock til he could stand it no more.  He stripped me, stripped himself, and
placed me face down on the bed.  He entered me hard and fast, drawing a
scream to my throat before pausing and letting my body adjust to the
massive cock lodged in my hole.  As soon as I could breathe again he
started thrusting in and out, burying the entire length of his pole in my
ass.  I stretched, almost involuntarily, to take him in, and the thrusts
came hard and fast as he fucked me with little regard for anything other
than his own needs.  His seed flooded my bowels as his cock head continued
to plunge in the very inner most depths of me, pushing the mixture of cum
and my anal juices farther and farther up me.  The friction of my cock
against the rough textured bedspread had it's effect, and I shot a huge
load, soaking the covers.  He made me lick it up before I left.  And just
as I was ready to leave, he shoved a $50 note in my jeans pocket.

The significance was almost wasted on me as I hobbled back to Mr Johnson's
car.  Almost.  It became apparent when he asked me for the money his friend
gave him.  As I handed it to him it became crystal clear.  Mr Johnson had
sold me.  Sold me for sex.  I had performed for money.  I had sucked the
man's cock and let him fuck me for $50.  As he drove me home in silence, he
handed me a $10 bill.  'Thanks' as he put it.

As I lay in bed, trying to make sleep overcome the emotions welling up in
me, semen trickled out of my hole, reminding me , I suppose, that there's
more to sex than love.  As I learned that night, sex sometimes paid, and as
I brought an inquisitive finger to the wetness that had been so sore before
I realized just what that pay cost.  Not much.  I had to admit that,
overall, it was as enjoyable than anything else.  And I put myself at ease
with what I had done.  I had done it before, plenty of times.
  The only difference tonight was that I had been paid for it.  All in all
not a bad deal.

Our relationship continued as if nothing unusual had ever happened, with
absolutely no mention of my experience with his 'friend'.  Don't ask.
Don't tell. Don't discuss seemed to be the rule of the day between us.
Within a week I had put it in the back of my mind, content with the almost
nightly blow jobs I was giving Mr Johnson.

I should have seen it coming, been aware of what was happening.  But I
wasn't.  Blinded by my admiration for Mr Johnson (to this day I don't think
of him as anything but 'Mr Johnson'), enthralled by the attention he paid
me, I went on my merry way.  Thinking of him as a lover, a provider, a
keeper of our little secret, as he put it.

What was happening behind my back was something else indeed.  My name and
phone number were plastered all over every boys restroom in the school.
Same with the bus station.  I was being outed to the whole town and I
didn't have the slightest idea it was happening.  Not only to other
students, who had openly called me queer, but to others in town.  Anyone
who frequented the bus station read the scrawled '4BJ CALL ME - LESLIE' and
my phone number prominently displayed.  A few adventurous souls did just
that, waking my parents in the middle of the night asking for me.  My
parents questions and accusations went largely unanswered by me, which only
added to their distrust and a growing realization that their son was queer.
Life at home became, more and more, a series of questions, answers, and the
inevitable arguments that the answers brought on.  I was outed at home, at
school, and in the small town I had grown up in and where I lived.  I was,
in no uncertain terms, outed.

Mr Johnson provided my only solace, my only refuge from the hostile
enviroment in which I found myself.  And he played the part.  Oh, did he
ever play the part.  He was my salvation, my friend, my confidant, the only
one on which I could rely for friendship.

And the price of that friendship?  You guessed it.  Being 'nice' to more
and more of his 'friends'.  They were, in the majority, out of town
businessmen staying at the motel.  And it mostly went along the same lines
as my first experience, sneaking out to meet Mr Johnson, blowing him, and
being left off at the motel entrance with instructions to knock on the door
to so and so room, where I would find his 'friend' waiting to stick his
cock in my mouth and occassionaly fuck me.  The pay ranged from $20 to $50,
and Mr Johnson always rewarded me with some portion of that.  And I never,
ever, balked at it.  I never refused.  I always performed with the same
enthusiastic fervor that made it well worth the money for them.

In the course of the next two months, I sucked and fucked at least 5 of Mr
Johnson's 'friends'.  And I suppose I would being doing it today if I
hadn't been caught.

I had made enough visits to the motel to attract the attention of the night
clerk.  He had seen me walking, alone, along row of rooms enough to figure
out that something was up.  He alerted the police, and they broke thru the
door to find me face down on the bed, my legs spread, as the somewhat
overweight, middle aged and balding man plunged his cock in my ass.  Coitus
interuptus.

The reaction, by my parents, the police, and the whole town was swift and
sure.  I was, no longer, an innocent teenager.  I was a whore.  A
prostitute.  I was shunned and shamed at the same time.

It was too much to bear, and within a week I tried to run away, seeking
something, anything other than that awful existence.  With dimly formed
plans I attempted to reach the nearest city, Roanoke, but lacking both
funds and any friends or acquaintences there, I quickly gave up on the
idea.  Not the idea of running away, mind you, but the idea of running away
without money.

Mr Johnson was arrested and charged with prosititution of a minor,
transporting a minor for prostitution, and contributing to the delinquicy
of a minor.  The man they caught me with was charged with crimes against
nature and contributing to the delinquicy of a minor.  Although I admitted
that I had done those things voluntarily, the the proscecutor made the
charges stick, and both Mr Johnson and his 'friend' were sentenced to jail
terms.

Mrs Johnson filed for divorce that same week.

The scandal certainly transformed our heretofore sleepy little town into
statewide news.  I was spared the media exposure because of my age, but
everyone in town heard what had happened.  Complete with names.  I could
feel the eyes starring at me, could hear the whispers behind my back both
in and out of school.  My teachers and principal treated me strictly,
making sure that nothing happened at school.  My fellow students treated me
with contempt and calling me vile names.

I quit the band the next month, unable to fit in even there.  I just wanted
high school to be over so I could get on with my life.  In self defense, I
tried to melt into the woodwork and somehow pass the rest of my high school
career as an invisible person.

But life is real, and if I thought I could adjust to being the school
"sissy" the notoriety associated with being the town 'queer' was another
adjustment altogether.  Being outed to the whole town meant just that.
While I was shunned and shamed by the majority, there were others who took
an interest in me.  Or what I would do, to be more precise.  The phone
calls were spotty, most intercepted by my parents.  But, being grounded
after school as I was, I did manage to be in the house by myself to answer
a few.  Several were nothing more than obscene callers.  But mixed in were
the serious ones.

"Hello" I answered, alone at home after school before my parents came from
work.

"Hi" the voice of a male.  I was unable to tell any more than that.

"Uh......hi" I repeated.

"Leslie?"

"Um huh" I didn't recognize the voice, but he knew my name.  I could guess
what this was about.  I was glad my parents weren't at home now.

"Uh, I read your note"

"Note?"  I knew exactly where this was headed.  From the tone of his voice
I didn't think he was an obscene caller.  I could usually detect that.

"Yeah.  Uh, you know, at the bus station" he sounded a little unsure of
himself now.

"Oh.  Do you go there often?"  why not keep him a bit off guard.

"Uh......I, well....no.  I don't go there often, but I saw your
name........and your, uh, note.  And....well, let's just say I heard about
you" he sounded for real.

"Heard about me?"  this would be interesting.

"Uh, yeah.  A friend of mine.  Said you were real good to him."  It turns
out that he was a travelling salesman, and so was his friend.  His friend
must have been a friend of Mr Johnson.

"Oh"

"So can you come out?"

"Uh, I'm sort of grounded."  I admitted.

"Grounded?  How old are you?"  he asked.  I didn't know just what exactly
he knew about me from his 'friend', but I assumed he was concerned with the
potential to be busted for 'contributing to ...... etc'.

"18" I lied "but I don't graduate til spring and I'm still living at home."
  I didn't want him to know the real truth, but then again I doubt if he
really cared.  My little lie seemed good enough for him.  And what the
hell, he wasn't from around here, so his chances of getting in trouble were
fairly remote.  "It's just that I'm grounded after school.  At least for a
while.  Til my parents get over it."

"I.....I'll make it worth your while, if you can come out that is."  Worth
my while?  I could guess, but then it was only a guess, and he didn't seem
to want to discuss it over the phone.  I promised to try and slip out after
my parents were asleep, and I gave him directions to the little park a few
blocks away, telling him to be there around midnight.

True to form, my parents were in bed by 10PM, and when I slipped down the
hall to check on them at 11, it was obvious that they were both dead to the
world.  I quietly eased up my bedroom window and stole across the car port
roof, dropping silently to the ground and crouching by the side of the
house to make sure I hadn't been heard.  All was quiet as I made my way
across the backyard and to the street.  I made sure I kept out of the
street lights as I hurried to the park.  As I approached, there was a
single car in the parking lot, motor running.  I could just make out the
shape of a person on the driver's side and decided to go for broke.  The
time was right and I didn't think I had too much to risk.

"Leslie?" he said thru the open window.

"Hi" I replied.

"Get in" he responded and I moved around the car to the passenger's door,
opening it and quickly slipping into the seat.

"Hi" I said again as I settled into the deep leather of the bucket seat and
glanced at him.  He was older, I would guess in his 40's, and from what I
could see he was of average build.  Not fat, not skinny.  Maybe 6 feet
tall.  It was hard to tell, but the initial impression was good.  His face,
what I could see of it in the faint glow of the dash lights, was
attractive, framed by what appeared to be average length black hair.  A
businessman.  Nothing out of the ordinary, but I felt the goose bumps
popping up on my arms as I realized what we were here for.  Alone.

"Uh........I, uh, I mean......I have a motel room.  Would you like to go
there with me?"  Boy, would I.

"Uh, yeah.  Sure."  God, you sound like dunce.  Without another word he
clicked on the head lights and put the car in gear.  I could hear the
crunch of gravels and then the quiet purr of the engine as we turned onto
the street, driving past my house on the way out.

"You're good looking" he said, glancing at me as he drove "my friend said
you were."  What do you say to something like that?

"Uh.......thanks" I managed to studder.  He was good looking too, as my
eyes adjusted to the dimness of the car interior, I could see more of him.
Definately good looking.  He was wearing a white dress shirt without a tie
and black slacks.  A businessman.  I settled back in the seat and checked
out the car.  Definately a cool ride.

"This town" he started, offhandedly "I come here at least once a month.
Dead.  I mean, absolutely nothing to do."

"Yeah, it's pretty quiet here.  A small town."

"It's nothing like Roanoke."

"Roanoke?"  he had my interest now "are you from Roanoke?"

"Yeah"

"I've always wanted to go there" I confessed.

"Why not?  It's a big city.  You ought to try it out sometime.  After
you're ungrounded."  I must admit I had thought about it a lot, but how
could I run away from home now?  I had no way to get there, nowhere to
stay, and, most importantly, no way to finance running away from home.  No,
I seemed destined to stay in this one horse town til something better came
along.

He took me to his motel, about a mile out of town.  Thankfully it wasn't
one that I had visited when I 'was nice' to Mr Johnson's friends, so I felt
safe in that regard.  Any concern I may have felt at sneaking out was
quickly replaced by a feeling of confidence as Harold and I got to know
each other.  He didn't appear the least bit nervous either, as we made
small talk along the way.  We sat in his room and talked some more, sipping
beer, until finally - and so naturally that it seemed the logical thing to
do - he turned back the covers on the bed, undressed, and slid in.  I
followed suit, placing my clothes neatly on a chair by the door and joining
him under the covers.  He moved over me and brought his mouth down on mine,
taking my open lips as encouragement to slip is tongue inside my mouth.  I
strained upward to meet him as my arms went around his neck and his body
pressed down on mine.  My legs spread as if they had a mind of their own,
and he settled on top of me, pressing me into the softness of the sheets.
I felt his penis as it slipped between my legs and pressed upward against
my ballsack.  Unable to control myself, I reached down, forcing my hand
between us, and took hold of what felt like a rather large cock.  He
groaned out loud as my fingers closed around the shaft and began their slow
massage.

I was on fire now, his hands moving down my back until they reached my
butt.  He pulled me to him, and my body literally melted into his, my hand
still gently tugging on his cock.  He rolled off to one side and pulled me
over, his hands going to my shoulders and pushing me down.  I paused to
suck and lick his nipples before letting my tongue trail down his stomach
to the thick patch of pubic hair below.  My hand moved to his ballsack as
my lips skimmed over the soft curls of hair and I zeroed in on the object
of my affection.  I pulled back to look at it, and my eyes were met by what
had to be, at least to me, a perfect specimen of man meat.  He was hard
now, and fully erect.  I guessed at a length of at least 10 inches, rising
from the darkness of his pubic hair in a thick shaft, and topped by the
most delightful looking cockhead I had ever seen.  It was smooth, and as
dark as the shaft, almost suntanned looking, perfectly proportioned for the
shaft it sat atop.  His pee slit was perfectly situated in the middle of
the head, the lips opened almost to gapping.  The wetness of his precum was
inviting me to partake, and I slowly ran my tongue along the opening,
drinking in the salty taste.  The more I licked, the more came out, and I
spread it all over the head with my tongue.  Harold was making groaning
sounds as I worked on the head.

Unable to control myself any longer, Iopened my lips and engulfed his
cockhead, feeling his precum smeared along my tongue as I continued to slip
him inside.  I was beside myself with desire.  Harold had touched something
inside me, and I had the feeling that we were going to get along just fine.

To be continued
lesli99@hotmail.com