Date: Tue, 1 May 2007 11:12:49 -0700
From: Bain Taylor <dozedaze@gmail.com>
Subject: Inconvenient Youth, chapter 2, Train Wreck

If reading fictional stories about sexual relationships between under-aged
males offends you, or if you are under 18 and/or it is illegal for you to
read such a story, please hit the `back' button on your pc, and try
something else.  All rights to this story are reserved by the author.

*I almost didn't write chapter two - for several reasons.  But that was
before I read some pretty awesome emails that a few guys sent me.  So this
chapter is for you.  And thank you for the comments.

Inconvenient Youth
Chapter 2
Train Wreck

As long as I've lived in Goldrun, I've never seen anyone `swim' in the duck
pond at Gold Rush Park.  The thing is three feet deep in the middle – tops
- and it's not exactly spring water.  Out near the middle, there's a cruddy
looking fountain that used to shoot water 50 feet in the air.  Now it just
kind of bubbles over, making little waves that the ducks bob over.  But
neither one of us stopped to complain as we ran towards it.  We sprinted
straight in, high-stepping until the depth of the water finally stopped us.

We didn't talk at all for the first five minutes or so.  We were way too
busy destroying all of the evidence that had soaked into our clothes.  And
that's not as easy as it might sound.

A million thoughts were racing through my head.  And while the panic had
died down a little, it had been replaced by this fear of what would happen
to us.

I was pretty sure that we'd be so messed up in our heads after what we'd
gone through, that there was a good chance we'd just go our separate ways.
We had no history of friendship, if fact, he was nearly a complete
stranger.  There was nothing preventing us from burying the experience deep
within our subconscious minds, and part of that trick would be to forget
the other guy ever existed.  Not that I wanted that to happen.

I did wonder what his reaction would be once the reality of it all hit him.
Anger?  A fist fight?  Silence?  I was prepared for any of it.

Not much longer after I had those thoughts, the moment of truth was upon
me.

Carl had been off to my right, and over a good 15 feet from me.  Until then
I'd been avoiding direct eye contact with him.  But now he was wading over
towards me, and there was no avoiding him.

"Hey man, damn... that was a close call back there."  He said, grinning as
if it were no big deal to bring it up.

I was expecting more of a mutual guilt trip, at best.

"Um, yeah... too close."  I stuttered.

"Hey, we made it to the pond, and no one busted us.  We need to figure out
a way to celebrate or something."  He said, just before dunking himself
under water.

Celebrate?

He was down there long enough for me to think he'd drowned, then broke back
through the surface, looking like some sea creature with this hair all
hanging down in his eyes.  He shook his head to one side, flipping his hair
out of his eyes in one quick motion - and Adonis was back.  Just that fast.

"Well, it's nice to see you are having a good time, but shouldn't we be
freaking out or something."  I asked, amazed at his carefree attitude.

"What's to freak on?  Like I said, we should be celebrating."  He said,
seeming serious.

Hmm.  If he really wanted to know what there was to freak on, I would have
a pretty hard time knowing where to start.

"Nothing else is bothering you?  Like – oh, I don't know – maybe what
happened between us was just slightly un-dude-like?"

He thought about it, as if it were the first time he'd considered it, then
got my meaning.

"Dude, I turn slightly gay every time I jack-off, but it doesn't turn me
queer."

Of course my mind `ran' with that, and I instantly imagined him jacking-off
in front of a mirror, admiring his perfect body, then feeling `slightly
gay' after doing so.

"So that's it, no guilt, no head trip, no nothing?  You just immediately go
back to your plain old self like it was no big deal?"  I asked, hoping he'd
show some sign of being human.

"Yep, you nailed it.  Hey, you aren't one of those glass-half-empty kind of
people are you?"  He asked, smiling at me.

"Who said anything about half empty, my glass is fucking completely empty.
There must be something seriously wrong with you."

"Look," he said, "If you're asking me if I'm feeling guilty and shit, hell
yeah I am.  Right now there are frogs all around our feet, munching out on
our unborn babies. It's a fucking tragedy."

He wrung his shirt out over the water to emphasize what he meant by
`babies', then continued on.

"And if that isn't bad enough - when the frogs have their own babies -
they'll likely be mutants.  So yeah, damn right I feel guilty."  He said,
laughing.

Oh, that paints a real nice picture.

I guess that was it, he had simply chalked the entire event up to a waste
of cum.  It was almost funny, in a sick kind of way.  But more importantly,
I was relieved that he hadn't gone ballistic on me.

"If you are trying to get me to laugh, it's not working."  I said, as I
maintained a serious look.

He waded over closer to me, then stood up.  His laughter faded.

"Ok, you win.  There IS something I have to say, and you're right – I was
trying to be cool about it.  But you're the one that pushed it, not me."
He said, matching my seriousness.

I waited for him to go off.  Maybe it was a misery-loves-company kind of
thing.  But I just wanted to get it out in the open so it would be over and
done.

And just as I thought he was ready say what he was really feeling, he
reaches down with a cupped hand, and shoots me a face full of water - then
bolts from the pond laughing his ass off all the way to the shore.

This time it was me running at his heels, laughing right along with him.

We ended up on a bench about fifty yards away, all out of breath, still
laughing our asses off.

It's really strange how when after you meet someone, there's never this one
single moment you can pin it down and say, `that's the instant in time that
we became friends.'  There's no such thing as `friendship at first sight',
at least not as far as I had known.  But this was different.  As we both
sat there dripping and laughing, I knew in my mind that we had become
friends – right on that very bench – right at that very moment.

Weird.

We sat there and talked for nearly an hour.  Dairy Queen and the pond never
came up again.  We talked a about different things we liked to do outside
of school.  But mostly we talked about sports.  It was cool knowing someone
that knew as much about all of the football teams and basketball teams and
baseball teams as I did.

It must have been somewhere around 1:30 by then.  We had already missed one
class, and there was no way we'd be back in time for the next one after
that.  Not that I cared.  I was actually having fun for a change.  He must
have been thinking the same thing.

"Hey man, would you be up for cutting out on the rest of our classes today?
I know you got a game and shit tonight, but that's like five hours from
now.  I could show you something really cool I know about."

I was definitely up for it.

"Um, yeah.  That would be cool."  I said, trying my best to conceal my
excitement.

So we walked to his place, which was only a few blocks away.

The place was major dump.  I mean, it was this shack-like single-wide
trailer, that had to be one of the first ever built.  There was laundry
thrown all over the floor, and the kitchen had at least a weeks worth of
dirty dishes piled up.  I was surprised that no rats came running by.  How
could someone that looked like him, come from a place that looked like
that?  I formed this image of what his mom must be like, based on the way
she kept up the `house' – which was probably a mistake.

He went to his room for a few minutes, and came back with an empty
backpack.  Then went on to the kitchen, where I could see him over the
breakfast bar getting stuff out to make sandwiches.

I looked around at some of the pictures on the shelves out in the living
room, trying not to be too obvious about it.  Nowhere in any of them did I
see anyone that could have passed for his father.  He must have either
died, or bolted when Carl was very young, I reasoned.

When I got out to the kitchen, he was throwing a bunch of other stuff in
the backpack along with the sandwiches.  And in record time we were back
out the door.

Apparently we were going somewhere.  I just let where ever we were going be
a surprise, because he would have told me by then if he wanted me to know.

So we took off hiking up Turner Road, and continued on with our earlier
conversations.  It was pretty awesome.  It was like he was the best friend
I never had and always wanted.  He had me laughing several times.  And as
he talked, what I noticed most about him, was that it wasn't what he said
that was so interesting, it was how he said it.  The same was true when he
was joking.

We eventually came up on the old train depot, which was now converted to a
tourist setup where people pay ten bucks a pop to take a ride through the
forest.  It passes by some cool old gold mines, and winds around through
the hills - even going through a few vineyards.  I hadn't been up there in
around five years, but still remember the day my parents took me on the
ride.  Trains are pretty cool things when you're 11.  Actually, I never
stopped liking them.  But I didn't get why Carl had led us there, or why he
was leading me down the tracks along the train - on the opposite side of
the depot.

Just as we got all the way to the very last car, a loud whistle blew.  I
looked back, and saw this huge plume of steam coming from the old engine up
front.  And as the engines kicked in, the ground shook beneath us.

When I looked back at Carl, he was looking up an iron ladder, that went all
the way up to the top of the car.  He looked back and me, knowing I'd seen
where his eyes had been.

"We're going up there?"  I asked, feeling my heart race at the thought.

"Yep, I've done it like six times now.  It's fucking incredible.  You go
first... we have about ten seconds before the train starts moving.  When
you get up there, duck down, or people will see you."

I took a deep breath, grabbed hold of the old iron ladder, and made my way
up.

And as I pulled myself over the ledge, I could see people on the other
side, buzzing around the depot, so I stayed low just has Carl had said to
do.  The roof was surrounded by a solid rail that stuck up a good 15
inches, so you could duck down and not be seen.  And as the train started
moving forward, Carl pulled himself up a minute later, and hunched down
along side of me.

"This is the worst part.  Just stay low, and I'll tell you went it's cool
to stick your head up."  His green eyes were beaming at the excitement of
it.  And I guess mine probably were too.  It was a rush, to put it mildly.

So about five minutes later, as the train starts picking up steam, he gives
the clear to sit up.

When I did, I could see the forest closing in around us.  We'd made it, we
were completely isolated from the rest of the world up there - on a two
hour train ride through the mountains.  We were stowaways!

"Just be careful if you walk around.  People down below might be able to
hear us up here." He said over to me.

I nodded that I understood.

As I peered out over the rail, the warm air blew gently over my skin, and
all you could smell was this magnified scent of pine trees.  Carl was
watching for my reaction, which was this huge smile I didn't even care
about trying to hide.

"What?  You never hopped a train before?"  He asked.

"Dude, this is incredible."  I said back.

"Yep, it's my great escape.  I always thought it would be cool to get a
girl to come up here with me, but I only came close to it happening once,
and she chickened out at the last minute."

"That sucks, she sounds like someone I know," I said, "Just don't give up.
That's the secret."

"You nailed it."  He said, grinning back.

And with that, he reached around, peeled his backpack off, and opened it.
He fished around for our lunch, and I was so starved I could have eaten
anything.  And even though it was just a plain old peanut butter and Jelly
sandwich, it tasted about ten times better than it should have.  He brought
out a bag of chips and a couple of cokes, and we settled in for the ride.

We stretched out, laying on our sides and facing each other - propped up on
our elbows.  And as we inhaled lunch, we would look up at each other from
time to time, then went back for another bite.  There wasn't much of a need
to talk.

He seemed like he was off in another world, just thinking.  I'm not sure
how long it was before he spoke next, but it was quite a while.

"So by chance did you see the last game of the season between the Dodgers
and the Giants?"  He asked, coming out of his thoughts.

"You mean the one where the Giants ended on a four game losing streak, and
blew it in the bottom of the ninth with two outs, two men on base, and
Jamerson up?  Yeah, I saw it... why?"  I asked.

"Did you stay and watch the interviews afterwards?"

"Nah, I turned it off by then.  I was happy.  I'm a Giants fan... so I
really didn't care."  I said back.

"Well, this interviewer dude gets Jamerson in front of the camera, and
tries like anything to get him to admit that he had royally fucked up the
season. So he asks him how he thought the season went, and how he felt when
that last pitch of the game flew passed him."

"And?"  I asked.

"And so Jamerson looked dead into the dudes eyes, and says, `I went out on
a good pitch.'  That was it - that was his answer."

I looked at him, expecting the story to go on, but it didn't.

I ran my hand over my head, trying to make some sense of it.  I had no idea
what he was talking about.  But as I sat there drinking my coke, I thought
more about it... and then it hit me.

His story wasn't about Jamerson - or even the Dodgers – it was about us.

I felt his huge lump happen in my throat, and I had to look away.

"Cool story." I said.

I don't know why it hit me that hard, bit it did.  So I stood up, and
walked over to the end corner of the train car.  I looked out at the trees
flashing by, and then down at the railroad tracks as they flew under the
train in one continuous blur.

He just let me be off by myself like that for a while.  It was so weird.  I
swear he could read every thought I had.  It was fucking scary.

I kept playing the story he told me over and over in my mind.  It was like
he had admitted to me that he had the same messed up feelings about me as I
did for him.  And the only question left was: Do we let our one chance at
what we could be, fly by and land in the fucking catcher's mitt?  Or do we
go out swinging?

Why couldn't I be all calm, cool and collected like he was?  Maybe the one
year in age between us was the difference between actually taking a chance
on something, versus being at the point of no return.  Maybe he was hanging
on to his last year of not letting the fucked up world get in the way of
anything.  And maybe it was too late for me.  Seniors are always so
serious.  And I was going to be one next year.

"Hey man, you forgot your coke."  He said over to me after several minutes.

I smiled at myself, shook my head at his lazy attitude, and went back and
took the coke he was holding out to me.

He pulled himself up, walked over, and looked off to the tree-covered
canyon as the trees whizzed by.

"So Jack," He says over to me, "We got maybe 20 more minutes of forest
cover before we hit open space, I say we blow our minds."

The guy definitely talked in riddles.  And that was one riddle I knew I
couldn't figure out.  So instead, I found myself checking out his baseball
bubble-butt when he wasn't looking - and decided that if he stood like that
for the rest of the train ride, he could rattle off as many riddles as he
wanted.

I snapped myself out of it, and tried to remember what his question was.

"Blow our minds?  What?  Is this where we jump or something?"  I asked,
fully figuring that we'd be traveling over a bridge at any minute.

He looked over at me as he pulled off his shirt.

"Nope.  Extreme sports."

Great, another riddle.  But he was standing there with no shirt on, so I
let it slide.

"I don't get it."  I said back.

So he just sort of ignores me, unbuttons his cargos, and lets them drop
along with his boxers to the roof of the train car.  Then he kicks them off
over his hiking boots, and I'm suddenly staring at the bubble butt I'd been
trying to see though his cargos only a minute earlier.  And it was – um -
better than perfect.  All smooth and white and bulging out from his trim
tapered waist.  The dude was a fucking Greek God.

"What can I say?"  He said, smiling over at me, "I'm a twice-a-day man."

I froze.  And he laughed at the expression on my face.

"Ever shoot a load off the ass end of a moving train?"  He said, tempting
me to join him.

This was definitely not happening.  And I was definitely not hearing
clearly.

He walked over to the end of the train, near where I was standing.  His
enormous cock just kind of wagged hard and heavy in front of him.  The wind
rushed by at our backs like static electricity, and it felt like every hair
on my body was standing on end.  I swear to God, if I had any one image I
could take with me to my grave, it would be how he looked standing there
like that.

He brushed his hair back over his eyes with one hand, and made this sexy
grin over at me. He raised up one eyebrow, as if to say, `let's party.'
Then he reached down, and took hold of his over-sized cock.  I nearly lost
it right then and there.

"This is crazy.  YOU'RE crazy."  I said, smiling back.

I reached to the bottom of my tee-shirt, and pulled it over my head.  And
he watched as I kicked my cargos off over my hiking boots as he'd done –
and I moved up next to him.  I'm pretty sure I was holding my breath.

And as I stood there no more than a foot away from him, I tried to imagine
how it was possible it was really me there, and not me dreaming it.  I was
on the roof of the caboose of an old steam train going twenty miles an hour
though the most beautiful scenery in the world, and standing next to the
most unbelievable stud in the universe. Talk about a moment in time.

He looked me up and down slowly.  Then sort of laughed to himself and shook
his head hard, like he was trying to shake out an evil thought.

"Damn, this isn't gonna take long."  He said, mumbling through his
ridiculous dimples.

And he started slowly stroking his hand over his vein engorged cock,
looking to make sure I was following his lead.  And I was.

His large, fuzz-covered balls hung high, so that they met his pulsing cock
in a seamless alliance, nearly dwarfing his pumping hand.  And as he took
in each breath of air, his firm stomach sank in deeply, and his smooth
hairless chest expanded, showing the outlines of individual ribs - hiding
under his perfectly tanned skin.

My `just checking out the competition' argument had just crashed and
burned.

He looked at me and shrugged his shoulders, as if to apologize for how he
looked.

Our breathing turned erratic, and a film of sweat began to cover our bodies
as we made like we'd been doing it together for years.  The sun shining
down through the trees and between breaks in the canyon walls made him
flicker and glow, as if he were short- circuiting from a power-surge.

He moved in, so that we were touching shoulders, and that same wave of
electricity that hit me at the Dairy Queen, dominoed through every pore of
my skin.

He brought be back to the moment.

"Dude, I did this once before, and it's totally awesome." He said, as if we
were on a rollercoaster ride.

"When you shoot down-wind on a moving train, it freakin' flies out
twenty-five feet and makes you feel like you're Superman.  You're gonna
freak." He added.

"Damn."  I said, smiling back.

And we stood there like that, fists flying, getting all squirrelly and into
it.

After three or four minutes, I had to slow it down – way down.

He looked over at me, then down at my raging cock.

"You close?"

"Yep, about as close as it gets."  I said through my cracking voice.

"Fuck, Jack, so am I... dude... don't let me fall..."

He inched all the way to the very edge, which was the only section on the
roof that wasn't surrounded by the rail.  There was nothing between him and
the ground below.

"I won't."  I said.

But I don't think he heard me.

I forced my fist off my own raging cock, turned towards him, and brought up
my hand to the front of his heaving chest.  His knees buckled forward and
his fist pounded faster than the chugs of the train engine.

He was nearly out of control, and uncaring that his feet were now hanging
two inches over the lip of the ledge.  He arched back hard, and I barely
caught him – bringing my other hand up under his hard and slippery
bubble-butt.  As I did, my still-throbbing cock smashed hard into the
dimpled side of his flexing ass-cheek.

"Oh, fuck... dude, here it goes..."  He yelled out in a raspy voice.

His muscled butt bucked against my hand, and his chest heaved harder.

His knees bent further forward, and he looked at me one more time with his
helpless eyes, then looked out over the back of the train.

His entire body shuttered, and I watched as this massive, twisting rope of
cum exploded from his giant mushroom head - sailing long and high through
the air in the train's powerful wake.

He was lunging and bucking, like he was fucking the air:

"FUCK YEAH!!!!!!!"  He screamed at the top of his lungs; his voice echoing
the canyon walls.

"No FUCKING way!  Did you see the hang-time on that thing?"  I shouted,
watching his sperm crash to the railroad tracks far below us.

"Told you."  He grunted, through the force of a second blast.

I left the planet.

He looked like some mythical god, firing his cum over the land below to
give new life to some dying planet.  No mortal could look like that.  No
way.

My heart was racing beyond belief.  And with my cock still sliding hard
along the side of his steaming ass cheek, I just hung on for dear life, and
prayed to God and all of the saints that the rollercoaster we were on would
never stop.

But eventually, he lightened his grip on his pulsing, sperm covered dick,
and slowed his hand so that it was only lightly sliding back and forth.

He let his hand fall to his side, and looked over at me, panting and
grinning big enough to bring out his amazing dimples.

"Dude, that was a FUCKING RUSH!"  He said, all red and breathless.  "You're
up next man..."

I grinned back like an idiot – so hard that it actually hurt.

"What are you?  A fucking cum factory?" I asked, as I watched his stomach
move in and out with each breath he took.

"Damn right."  He said, still heaving.

I could have easily blown off just looking at him.

But `I was up', so I faced out over the end of the train as he had done –
and grabbed hold of my tortured and throbbing dick.  This was definitely
going to set a new jack-off record.

And as I started to slowly stoke myself, he moved behind me and draped one
arm over my shoulder, letting his chin rest to the side of my neck.

"I got you man," he said, bringing his other hand to my waist.

His cum-covered cock slapped up carelessly, and laid up vertically along
the line between my ass-cheeks.  He held me tight, and I let my fist go
wild.

It felt like I was hovering as I looked down at the tracks below.  And
whether he knew it or not, his still-twitching cock moved harder against
me, moving up and down with each bump in the tracks, until it was nearly
gliding between two flexing mounds of flesh.

The quaking of his spent body against mine felt like silent thunder,
crashing through every vein inside of me.

"Oh, man.  I'm close."  I stuttered after no more than a single minute.

"Let it fly, man... put out the fucking sun."  He said through his breaths.

And I could no longer hold off.

I didn't know, and didn't care how far I shot, or even how it looked flying
through the air.  All I know is that when my cock exploded, it was his cum
I was shooting.  I fucking swear to God that's how it felt.

I can't say how long we stood like that.  But it was the most exotic and
incredible thing I had ever done.  And I knew then, that my life had been
changed forever.

It was no rollercoaster we'd just gotten off of...

It was more like a train wreck: A head on collision, where you see the
other train coming at full speed, and all you have time to do is brace
yourself.

*Thanks for reading.  If you'd like me to try for another chapter, just
drop me an email, and I'll give it another try.  My email is:
dozedaze@gmail.com

Jack's first game of the season starts at 6:30 P.M... and he's running
late.  Until then, hang cool...