Date: Mon, 27 May 2002 19:42:23 EDT
From: Tommyhawk1@aol.com
Subject: "Just Plain Bad"

			      JUST PLAIN BAD
			   By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
		      WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM

          "The boy is just plain bad." I heard Mrs. Grommel speaking to my
mother after dinner. "I don't know why you let your Edwin hang out with
that boy." She was speaking of Gregg, one of my best friends since we had
moved here some three years ago.
     When you're a teenager, you go through that phase, where you're
looking to rebel and you hook with the more dangerous types at school. I'm
sure that's what first drew me to Gregg, who rode a motorcycle even at
fifteen, and still did, always wearing a black leather jacket, faded blue
denims and white shirt, like James Dean only forty years too late, and for
the same reason...for Gregg was a rebel. Blond-haired, tall and strong with
a solid, sharp face, Gregg lived with his mother and father in a
dilapidated shack near the railroad tracks, a clapboard house which must
have been built around the turn of the century, his father a loud, lazy,
beer-guzzling slob, his mother a beaten-looking woman with frowzy hair and
faded dresses with all the color washed out of them until they were a
near-white, too-thin handkerchief-like material, and she wore that while
she scrubbed clothes in a washboard out less than ten feet from the tracks
and hung clothes to dry while the trains dumped fresh soot all over them.
     No wonder the too-pious Mrs. Grommel didn't like Gregg. I knew he had
earned the money for his motorcycle first by a paper route and then by
working in a gas station garage (on the sly, he was too young to work for a
living), until he had the money and he had bought it himself
second-hand. And I had ridden it with him, hanging onto his strong, thin
waist, going to town where he'd let me buy him a burger and fries along
with my own because the motorcycle and later, the jacket, had taken every
penny he got.
     I don't want you thinking Gregg was just a misunderstood kid. He
stole, for one thing, everything from cigarettes to parts for his
motorcycle. I helped him steal, frequently by stealing myself while he, the
obvious bad boy, created a diversion of some sort, I could slip the item
into my jacket or backpack and be out while Greg was being shouted at and
thrown out. The store owners never looked at me, the clean-cut son of a
well-to-do family with money of my own. Why would I steal anything? But
Gregg had lately branched out into rougher things, things which I didn't
want to be involved with. He'd leave me in the evening and come back an
hour later with money...and I didn't ask any questions about how he got it
and he never told me. Gregg was my friend, he'd give a laugh when he showed
it to me and say, "Drinks are on me tonight." And we'd pay some wino to buy
us a six-pack or a pint and we'd share it back and forth. And I was Gregg's
friend and for all the way it started, I loved those times together with
him.
     "I'm sure that boy and his father were the ones who robbed that liquor
store last week." Mrs. Grommel was gossiping to Mom. "Did you hear about
it? Broke in the back door and the owner says they took over five hundred
dollars from the till and some cases of his whiskey. The father's been
roaring drunk ever since, now where would he get that kind of liquor to
stay drunk if he hadn't stolen it? He used to only get drunk now and then,
but he's been on one long bender ever since the robbery. Robbed it on a
Sunday, too, it's just scandalous!"
     I gave up trying to watch the television while Mrs. Grommel was there
and went to my room to study. I had a test coming up next week and didn't
want to have to cram all weekend, besides, I didn't have anything else to
do, Mom wouldn't let me go out on a school night.
     I'd been studying for about an hour, getting bored with it and
wondering if the old bag had left, when I heard a small tap-tap at my
window. That was all, just the quick sound and I had about decided it was a
bird when I heard it again, tap-tap. Like something was hitting the glass,
rather than someone was tapping on it. I was on the second floor, after
all.
     I went to the window and nothing was there, of course, then I opened
it and looked out. The wind was cold on my bare skin, for I had stripped
down to my boxer shorts some time before, thinking of going to bed soon,
the wind clasped my shoulders in icy fingers and pulled at me to come join
in its dance among the tree branches near my window.
     I looked down; Gregg was there on the neatly mown side lawn, a thin
rectangle only some ten feet wide. "Eddie!" he hissed.
     "Gregg." I said in a normal voice.
     "Shh!" he said, looking round. "Keep your voice down."
     "What is it?" I said in a loud whisper.
     "Can I come up?"
     "Sure." I said. "I'll go unlock the door."
     "No, don't do that." he said. "I'll come up." There was a large oak
tree near my window at the back door, it didn't put its branches near my
window, but you could do what Gregg did, which was to climb the trunk (it
had a split-trunk, easy to climb and I had even done it once or twice since
our moving in) and then onto a branch which got him onto the overhang of
the first floor. It wasn't anything a person could stand on for long, being
sharply sloping, but Gregg managed to walk it for the two steps it took to
get to the window and grab hold. He nearly slipped off, then, but I was
there and I got hold of his arm and helped hold him up and then he got one
long leg inside the window and into my room, and stood there, a tall,
strong form, looking out of place in my too frou-frou-looking bedroom (my
mother had had it decorated, it wasn't my idea!), looking like an alley cat
at a purebreed cat show. Not out of place, exactly but not part of it
either.
     "Why are you here, Gregg?" I asked him. Gregg had never come to my
room before, I had always met him after school or at a burger joint which
was a teenage hangout.
     "I'm leaving town." he said.
     "Why?" I asked him.
     "Never you mind." he said. "But I need to stay someplace tonight. You
got any money on you?"
     "Not much." I admitted.
     "Get some from your mother. Tell her anything. I got to have money,
all you can get for me." He declared.
     For the first time, I balked at one of Gregg's plans, and he could
sense it, a storm built up behind those eyes of his, his jaw tensed.
     "Edwin." he said slowly.
     "Gregg, if I ask for a lot of money they'll ask questions. You can
stay here with me tonight." I said, and I licked my lips.
     "Stay here with you?" he asked me. "Where would I sleep?"
     "With me." I said. And bit my lip, looked down at his crotch.
     It was only a quick look, but he saw me do it. "So that's how it is,
eh, Edwin?" he said softly, but not tenderly, soft like the tread of a
panther's steps as it stalks its prey.
     "What do you mean?" I asked him. My lips were cracked dry and I was
nearly trembling. God, Gregg in my bed. It was a small bed, it would mean
us right against each other, holding each other, me being in his arms, his
body pressed against mine.
     I stood up to talk, to try to convince him that I didn't mean that at
all...and that was a mistake. I had an erection and in my loose shorts, it
was a tent that jutted from my body.
     "Gregg." I said to him. "Gregg, I was only trying to help you. You got
to understand me!"
     "I understand you." he said again. "I always wondered why you were
hanging out with me. I guess now I know, huh? And I thought you were
different."
     "Gregg, it's not like that at all."
     "Bullshit." he said, getting angry. His chest was moving strongly, so
strongly, like a lion pacing in its cage, up and down.
     "Gregg...Gregg, I'm sorry." I said, lowered my head. "I guess you'd
better go now."
     "Are you going to help me?"
     I looked back up at him. "Yeah, Gregg, I'll help you. I always do. But
I can't ask for it. I'll have to wait until they're asleep and sneak in and
just take it."
     "Okay, then." he said. "So we wait. How long?"
     "They ought to be in bed any minute now."
     "About an hour then." he said.
     "Yeah." I said, looking at him again, his face, still stormy, almost
scowling but the face itself wasn't wrinkled up at all. Then...I couldn't
help myself, the way he was perched on the edge of my desk...I looked down
again at his crotch. He was leaving town, I wouldn't see him again anytime
soon, if ever. It would be the last look I got.
     Watched the big bulge that seemed to always be there, maybe just the
fabric or maybe his cock was one of those that don't really shrink down
when soft, but there was always a bulge at his pants, a small curving lump
the size of a couple of fingers side by side and about as long, and it
stayed even when he moved, like now, and his hands reached down and
unbuttoned his fly.
     I looked up at him. His face was still set in hard lines, but now it
was different, not just angry, but...masterful. Like he owned me. His lips
nearly, but not quite, were lifted up into a smile on one side, his eyes
were squinting slightly. I looked back down as his arms moved wide from his
body and I saw him undoing his belt and then the top button of his jeans
and opened it, showing the pale, bare flesh and the tangle of pubic hairs a
deeper blond than on his head, nearly brown.
     Then his hand reached in and grabbed hold, gave a tug, and his cock
flopped out to lie like a serpent on his opened fly.
     "Come on, cocksucker." He said to me. "You know you want it." And his
cock like a serpent began to rise and fill and lift like a living thing.
     "Gregg, I..." I began to protest as I regarded his prick, my jaw
hanging slack and he reached out and grabbed my head and pulled it toward
his crotch.
     "I said suck it." He grunted. "Go on, you always wanted to. Now's your
chance. Come on, do it before I change my mind."
     I couldn't help myself, when he put it that way. All my pride, all my
caution, it all went by the wayside, I had to act now or I'd never get
another chance. So I did, I knelt down and got a whiff of his crotch, it
was heavy and funky and not too clean.
     "Come on, get to work on it." he said to me, in a hard tone but not
cruelly. Just telling me what to do.
     I leaned forward with my mouth and I put out my tongue and touched
just the tip of it to his cockhead and tasted it like that. It was like
touching my tongue to rubber, I had tasted an old tire's inner tube we'd
inflated to play with in the pool once and it was like that, sort of in the
strong flavor it had, but where the inner tube had tasted dead and cold,
the glans was warm and alive.
     "Uh!" he said as I touched his cockhead. "Come on, suck it now. Suck
it."
     I tentatively touched my lips to the cock and he groaned again,
"Guuuuhh!"
     I pushed my head down and the glans popped into my mouth like a cork
pops out of a bottle when it doesn't go flying, just pop and it's up and
loose. The cockhead was soft and spongy and I clenched my mouth around it,
tasting it, getting the feel of it, and it was musky, heavy, rank-tasting,
nearly sour and oily-like. Gregg didn't take baths very often, I'd always
known that but never thought what that would mean, that his crotch would be
this heavy and moist smelling, like a swamp where things rotted and died.
     No matter how much and how long I'd wanted him, I hesitated at this,
and he grunted and grabbed my head and shoved me down onto it and I was
suddenly immersed in that pestilential jungle and recognized it for what it
was.
     Concentrated Gregg, that's what it was. Everything he was and had been
and would be was in these aromas, this smell of his pubic hair told his
life's story, filled with hard times and rough situations and dangerous
encounters. It was Gregg walking along the sharply sloping edge of the
overhang, knowing he could not fall because he'd be at the window before
his forward momentum gave out and he could fall, so long as he kept his
feet he would not fall and so he had made it where I would have hesitated
or clutched and dangled before wrenching myself up into the window. All of
this, every little act of recklessness and courage, every bit of his cruel
behavior, all of it, was inside this steaming bog of damp, curled, kinked
hairs that tickled my nostrils, seeped into my mouth from his thick, heavy
cockshaft.
     I clutched my mouth tight about his massive pole and I held it tight
as I rasied my head up, pulling that foreskin with me every bit of it all
the way up and as I did, the cockhead poured precome onto the back of my
tongue, drizzling down like honey from a honey wand, and Gregg moaned as I
did it. "Ah, yeah, yeah, like that." he muttered. "Come on, deep-suck it,
like that, oh, yeah."
     I made long, slow, deep strokes on his dong, and every move of my
mouth he rewarded with his sounds of pleasure, as if each gutteral groan
was wrung from his lips. "Come on." he said after a time, his voice
trembling with his pleasure. "Come on, suck it faster. Come on."
     I moved a little faster for him and he threw his head back and gave
out a long, low groan. "Ooooohhh, yeahhhhh!" Then he lowered his head to me
again and his lips parted and his breaths came audibly out. His hands
reached out and down and he stroked my shoulders. "Yeah, come on, uh, huh,
huh!" he grunted. "Uh, yeah, come on!"
     I blissfully sucked his prick, enjoying this time, this giving him
pleasure, this making him squirm and wrench and sigh, he didn't move his
lower body at all, but his upper body from the waist up was moving in
ecstasy, his stomach clenching inwards while his shoulders surged outwards,
then his stomach relaxed and his shoulders sagged back and his head would
weave as if a ripple had run up his body and ended at his head whipping
back and forth, though all of this was slow, almost languid, only his
breaths were quick and harsh and ragged, his chest was heaving independent
of his bodies motions as he sucked in air to feed his lust-driven body.
     He shifted one leg and put his booted foot on the edge of my bed, and
I edged up to perch my buttocks on the bed as well and he reached out with
one large hand to grab my head and he began now to make me suck him faster,
he held on tight and he shoved my head down hard and he lifted it off, not
by the grip but by the force of his will, he was using his hand to guide my
movements for his pleasure and I obeyed as I always had obeyed him, then
his other hand came up and he was now forcing my mouth down onto his cock
and was pulling me up again and he was in control like he'd always been in
control, and I didn't even gag because I let him fuck my face, and he stood
up and began to hunch at me harder than ever, and his moans were like the
sounds of the jungle about me, for my world was immersed in him, inside the
dark corners of his will I made my home, and I was submerged into him.
     When he pulled his cock out of my mouth and pushed me back on the bed,
I fell like a limp rag doll, and his hands, calloused and rough from his
work on his bike and in the garage working on cars, rough hands with a
slight slick feel of old car oils, these hands reached and skinned my
boxers from my slight frame and left me bare before him, still clothed, and
he lifted my legs up.
     Oh, God, I realized he was going to fuck my ass! I hadn't been fucked
before, I had only known how to suck cock from my furtive self-training on
a banana (don't laugh, it had worked all right so far, only a cock seeps
salty fluid while you do it which can make you want to choke), I hadn't
tried yet to shove that banana up my ass, hadn't even thought about
it. "Oh, God, Gregg!" I moaned. I didn't dare say no to him, I needed to,
but the look in his eyes smoldered like coals not of quenched flame but
about to burst into flame, and that look scorched my soul and kept me
silent.
     And his cock pressed against my anus and I felt it like a thick tube
between my buttocks and the head a massive bulb at my ass, and I groaned
again, a small whimpering sound, and his hand let go of one of my legs and
clamped over my mouth while the other kept my leg high with a killer grip
on my ankle, and he pushed his dong into my ass with a plunge of fiery heat
and pain that roared through my butt like a backflame rushes through an
elevator shaft in a building in flames, a sudden rush of sheer raw fire and
fury with a wind that carries all before it to swirl and then be consumed.
     I looked up, my eyes wide like an animal's trapped in a car's
headlights, helpless before the onrushing vehicle which will crush the life
from its body, and Gregg dropped my other leg and both his hands caught my
shoulders and he used that purchase to shove his cock into me, all the way
to the base, a solid shaft of flame and agony and his balls slapped my
asscheeks and that, only that, stopped his onslaught.
     I was panting/groaning, "Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh!" as he held still, his
cock buried to its base in my ass.
     "Like that, huh, Eddie?" he asked me.
     "Oh, oh, oh!" I said. I did like it, but it was tearing me apart at
the same time! I couldn't answer, but he took my sounds as affirmation.
     "Well, then, you'll love it when I do this." he said to me. And his
cock began to slide in and out of my ass.
     Pain at first, just pain, with every move. But then as he moved,
another element crept in as the pain subsided; it had always been there
just buried under the screaming feel of pain. As the pain went away, it
rose like a stone on the river bottom as the river level drops, wet, then
drying out as the waters recede until it looks like it has always been
there, always above the water, smoothly gleaming in the sunlight. In that
way did my pleasure supercede my pain, become the dominant feeling in my
body as Gregg fucked me, and now my groans turned into unmistakable sounds
of pleasure.
     I belonged to Gregg now, like I'd always wanted to. He and I would
always be together now, always one, a bond that could never be broken. My
pleasure surged on this thought, this idea of belonging, of joining, and I
rose from pained subservience to pleasured submissive lover to an ecstasy
on a level of his own, for he was all afire as he humped my ass, and his
groans of pleasure meshed with my own and became a duet we sang together,
my own level of passion connected to his, fed off of his joy, until when,
he began to hump at me with rapid staccato thrusts and his moans of desire
were fast-firing bursts of firework-like sounds, kuh-kuh-kuh! I was right
with him, singing a longer, slower melody that meshed with his as my
pleasure built in my balls.
     "Kuh, kuh, kuh, KH-KH-KH-NGHH!" He groaned out to me and I felt his
sperm flash into me with salty spray like ocean water breaking over the
prow of a small sailing vessel I had been on, the water landing all over me
at once, like that, I knew he had reached his climax and my body hastened
to join him in his orgasm.
     I clung to him fiercely, him thrashing in ectasy, as I felt my
ejaculation explode from my cock, soaking his T-shirt and my chest, him too
lost in his own pleasure to see me soiling his clothing, which was smelling
of old and new sweat, and with the last bursts of my pleasure still jetting
from my body, Gregg stopped and lay down on me heavily, my dribbling seed
soaking his bare skin below the T-shirt and his breath was a roar in my ear
as he gasped and panted and me still squirming in my own joy, he was
sinking into lassitude and quenched satiety.
     "Man, oh, man!" Gregg groaned after a time, with me still panting from
my lungs' rasping need for air, more air! "That was a great fuck." he said
to me.
     And he got up, me still weak and trembling, I watched him adjust and
pull up his pants, refasten them. "Think your parents are asleep yet?" he
asked me.
     "I don't know." I said. "You'd better wait a bit longer. Then I'll go
check. Mom keeps her purse in her bedroom so I'll have to wait until she's
sound asleep."
     "Okay." he said, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. "How much
money you think she'll have on her."
     "Mom usually keeps quite a bit." I said. "A couple of hundred, maybe."
     "Good." he said. "I'll need all of it."
     "Okay." I said, none too happy. "But why do you have to go away?"
     "You'll find out soon enough." He said.
     "Okay." I said. "Where will you go?"
     "Better if you don't know." he said. "You can't lie about what you
don't know."
     "Gregg, what's wrong?" I said.
     He looked at me. "Eddie, just 'cause I fucked you doesn't entitle you
to ask me questions." He said.
     "I'm sorry."
     "It's okay." He said. After a while, in quiet silence as we waited, he
said, "Got to be a big town. I have to hide in the crowds. Better that than
another small town. It's how to get there. They'll be looking for my
chopper for sure."
     I didn't dare ask what he meant, and soon after that, I went into my
mother's room and got her purse. It was tricky, but mom sleeps soundly and
with Dad in his own room across the hall, I didn't have any real problems,
the purse was right where I thought it would be. I pulled out her clutch
purse in the hallway, found the money she kept, and the other money she
kept in case she needed some for emergencies, and I got it, all of it,
about $180.00, and I put the purse back and gave the money to Gregg. He
folded the money and put it in his pants pocket and then he took off his
jacket and gave it to me. "Keep this for me. Only, I'll need a shirt to
wear." He said.
     I went to my closet and found a baggy flannel shirt my grandfather had
given me on a hunting trip and he put it on, buttoned it up. Then he said,
"I won't be contacting you. But I'll keep an eye out for the news." He
hitched one leg over the sill of the window and looked back, said, "Edwin,
I'm counting on you."
     "For what?" I asked, but then he was gone, leaving me his
jacket. Later, they found his motorcycle in the forest where it had been
left days before. However Gregg left town, he didn't ride the motorcycle,
but they had been looking for one on the roads. Then they thought to check
the buslines, and found out he had bought a ticket. But that only took them
to another town, and from there, they lost track of him. Hitching a ride,
riding the train, catching a plane...they couldn't find out.
     Gregg was right, I found out. Both his mother and father were
dead. Police figured that Gregg had killed his mother some hours earlier,
then his father when his father came home.
     I didn't believe it. Maybe Gregg had definitely killed his father
(they had his prints) but nothing connected him to his mother's murder
except that. I think that his father got drunk (his blood level alcohol was
high) and killed his mother, and Gregg killed him in anger when he found
out. His mother had been savagely beaten, his father with a single blow to
the head.
     "Edwin, I'm counting on you." he'd said, and I knew why. I spend my
days now trying to convince the police what really happened, convince
everyone that Gregg didn't kill both his parents, and even his father's was
in self-defense (the signs of the struggle told me that clearly enough).
     But hardly anyone listens to me. Most of them think, like
Mrs. Grommel, that Gregg was "just plain bad." But I don't believe that,
and never will. For one thing, Gregg couldn't have had a hand in the liquor
store robbery like they'd said, or he wouldn't have needed the money from
me that I gave him. But they found some of the whiskey and money when they
searched his house.
     I know that Gregg's a lot of things that don't make him a nice person.
At the very best, he and I made love less than an hour after he had killed
his own father. You can't make that the action of a church-going,
all-around, "just plain nice" person no matter how you think of it. But
still...
     I don't anyone is "just plain" anything.

				  THE END
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		      WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM