Date: Sun, 31 Oct 2010 12:36:22 -0700 (PDT)
From: don mumford <thinat20@yahoo.com>
Subject: MIKE and RICHIE      Chapter 1       by Donny Mumford

Full disclosure: The original version of this story  was written almost four
years ago as my first attempt  at writing fiction; I was twenty one years old
then and  really bad at grammar, punctuation, and background story description.

As an amateur writer, without editing assistance, I still make lots of
mistakes but I've done my best to bring this story up to date, to correct
many of it's errors in writing, and generally make it a smoother read. I
think the story's good which is why I've gone to the trouble of
rewriting/editing it the best I'm able. If you're interested in gay high
school boys coming of age and finding out who they are sexually, and how
they deal with all of it, you'll likely enjoy this story.


D.M.


*****************************************************************************



			     MIKE  and  RICHIE
	     (previously known as:  "MIKE, HIS BIKE, and  ME")


				CHAPTER ONE



			     by Donny Mumford


"Keep your mouth  shut! I'm trying to think."  I shut my mouth, then nervously
bite my bottom lip anxiously waiting for Mike to make up his mind about my
suggestion. I've only known him for a few weeks but I'm getting kind of familiar
with what he expects.  Hell, I'm used to being told to keep my mouth shut
anyway, and not just by Mike, so that's no big deal. Even though Mike and I are
both sixteen I sorta look up to  him, and try to please  him. Often though I end
up doing the  opposite and annoy him instead.  Just a couple of minutes ago I
made a suggestion but I used poor  judgment blurting it out with all the guys
standing around. I should have waited until Mike and I were alone 'cause he
treats me differently when it's just him and me.

I have regular friends too, not just Mike and the gang.  Well, by regular I mean
my buddies from my old neighborhood when I lived with my mother.  That was in
Melten, Pennsylvania; a suburb of Philadelphia. I guess those guys still qualify
as my friends although I'll probably never see them again. The point is, I never
felt I needed to please them; we were all sort of equal. That's all in the past
for me now though; a couple of months ago my mother moved in with her asshole
boyfriend and I wasn't allowed to be part of the package.  She  choose him over
me and sent me packing to live with my father here in Wildwood, New Jersey.
Wildwood's a summer resort   town; thousands of people flock here to enjoy the
sun, the beaches, and the boardwalk. That's  in the good part of town, we live
in a more run  down section of Wildwood where everyday life is harsher.  The
tourist rarely venture where we live. Why my father chose to live here is a
mystery to me; he works as a blackjack dealer in a casino in Atlantic city. When
I asked him why doesn't he live there, he said, " Because I don't, that's why!"
Very illuminating.....

Even before I moved in with him permanently, the last six years I spent my
summers here and it's never been much fun. for the past six years. After the
divorce my old man seemed sullen and hasn't been much of a father to me.  Mother
wasn't much as a mother either, but at least she didn't smack me like dad does
occasionally. Mostly mother ignored me and now she doesn't even need to do
that. My summers here have been lonely affairs because  there aren't any kids
close to my age around here; my past efforts to make friends on the boardwalk
haven't been successful either. Almost all of those kids are only here for a few
weeks vacation, then they go back to their own homes, wherever that might be.
Now that I'm here year round I feel desperate for a friend, but in the early
going I'm still having no luck in that department.  Then, one hot day in June I
met Mike and, oh man, we really got off to a rocky start.  He was sitting on his
motorbike across the street from our house with me up on the railing of our
little front porch, daydreaming.  I heard someone call  out,    "Hey, you!  Come
here a second."  I looked up and noticed him then. He's a tall kid; about six
feet, and lean like me. Like I said, he's sitting on his motor bike staring in
my direction so I look around to see if maybe he's calling to someone else, then
I called over to him, "What's that?" He   yelled, "Are you deaf? Get your ass
over here!"   Squinting my eyes at him, I wondered if I knew him somehow. He
agitatedly waved at me to come over and so, what the hell, I got up and walked
across the street, to ask, "Were you calling me over, or...?.  "Do you see
anybody else around, numbnuts?"  he responded sarcastically. Then, without
waiting for me to reply, he told me to hold the motorbike by the handle bars
while he untangles his pant leg which had gotten caught on the kick stand. I got
hold of the bike and this kid  goes to town trying to  free his  pants. After
some cursing, he finally ripped a  piece off the pant leg, screaming, "Fucking
piece of shit!" Then he kicked the bike so hard I almost lost my hold on it.
Temper, temper!



Without looking at me, in a calmer voice, he asks, "Do you have a cigarette?" I
told him I don't
smoke and he'd muttered something about me being a fag.  He acted so tough, but
he didn't look tough.  His light blond hair is buzz cut real short and he wore a
small hoop earring in each ear.  Other than that he has kind of a sunburned
baby-face teenager look about him.  I didn't know what to make of him then, and
I don't know much more now, two weeks later. Back then, for something to say,
I'd asked him if he lived around here; I was thinking maybe we could hook-up and
hang out together or something. He looked at me, cocking his head a little bit
to the side, and said, "You're not retarded are you?" I frowned at that
unnecessary rude question, as he add,  "What'd ya think, I  flew in from far
off, just  me and my bike, so I could get my pants tangled-up in front of where
you live. Is that what you think?"  My jaw dropped open as I tried absorbing
this unwarranted rudeness. Why's he  pissed-off at me?  I remember saying to
him, trying for humor, "Duh, does that mean you do live around here?" I
chuckled a little to show I was kidding,  thinking, "Jeez, I  must really be
desperate for a friend!" He gave me a dismissive look, like I'm not worth his
time, pulled the bike away from my hands. I stayed put, fascinated by him as he
stomped down on a lever and the bike roared to life.  His back tire squealed on
the side walk as he took off, neglecting to say "thank you" for my help. In
fact, he ran over the my right foot instead;  surprisingly, that didn't do any
damage... not that he'd have cared if it did.  I had another chuckle as I walked
back across the street, thinking, "There's a good chance we're not gonna become
close  friends after all."

I didn't see him again for a week and by then I'd put that episode out of my
mind. My thoughts centered around getting use to my new home. During the high
point of vacation here in Wildwood over 250,000 people will crowd into a town
that holds just  under 5,500 during the off season, which is October to May.
It's  not a great place to  live if you ask me; so far nobody's asked  me.  My
dad's assigned chores for me to do and he pays me to do them.  Basically I'm
replacing the cleaning firm he'd previously employed to keep the four rooms and
bath reasonable clean. Plus, every morning I walk to a convenience store to buy
him coffee and a Danish and cigarettes. I also empty trash and change the bed
linens and do the wash.  What the hell, I do everything, although to be honest,
it only takes about an hour a day. I'm conscientious about doing this stuff
because my reward is $50 a week if I do a good job. Dad is tall and strong with
a big gut.  He's 48 years old but looks older because of his gray hair and red
scrunched-up  'drinkers' face. Okay, maybe some woman might think he's ruggedly
handsome. I take after my Mother where appearance is concerned. Her good looks
are basically  her  only redeeming feature.  I have light brown hair and green
eyes and an awesome winning smile... ha ha; that's even if I do say so myself.
The old man doesn't look at me too much because he says I remind him of mom.
Dad's not a lot of laughs, but he's okay with me as long as I do what I'm
suppose to do, and stay out of his way. He never asks how  my day  went; he
never asks anything which can be good sometimes, and then not so good other
times  I don't believe dad's dated woman (or men) since the divorce; he usually
spends his free time at a local bar drinking beer and smoking cigarettes.  As
near as I can figure from the little he says: he likes arguing politics and
shooting pool with  his cronies.  Once in a while I'll fix us dinner and we'll
eat together,  but usually we eat separately whatever and whenever we feel like
it.  As a 'parental unit he pretty much sucks; on the other hand, I like  the
freedom his lack of parenting  allows. When I  moved in with him my mom tells
me, by way of a goodbye, "Maybe I'll call you sometime Richie, ya know, to see
how you're doing.  Don't piss off your father, he's not as nice as I am.  See
ya, Kiddo." And that was that. No hug or kiss, I waved weakly and got on the bus
with my few possessions.


The first couple of days I spent time looking  around the immediate neighborhood
but didn't see any kids at all, never mind kids my age. Then, a  week or so
later I  had my initial run in with the tall kid and his bike.  After that, no
contact with anyone close to my age.  Each day after all my chores were done I'd
go walking, getting reacquainted with the  neighborhood. When I'd  familiarized
myself with the immediate neighborhood, I started working my way towards the
beach. The temperature is usually near 90 degrees during the sunny part of the
day so the walking is hot and not a lot of fun, it's just that I've nothing
better to  do. A week into my exploration I finally reach the boardwalk; total
walking time is about 40 minutes.  Beyond the boardwalk is the the beach and
then the Atlantic ocean. The boardwalk, beach, and ocean stretch to my right and
my left as far as the eye can see. I've seen it all before of course, but it's
still pretty impressive. After taking in the panorama view I went up the ramp to
the boardwalk and right away spot that sunburned, baby-faced kid again; he was
acting as cocky as ever. I recognized him immediately; he was with two other
 kids about our age who looked tough.  One, a skinny redheaded kid, and the
other a mousey brown haired chubby kid. They both  have buzz cuts like
babe-face, but these other two also have a nasty tattoo or two, plus  the hoop
earrings and other piercings, and most of all... they had attitude!  Pirates
came to mind... perhaps that's what they hoped they're  projecting.  They're all
wearing jeans, black sneakers and black T-shirts with different logos.  I had on
raggedy Bermuda shorts and a sleeveless T shirt and old sandals on my feet.  I
thought it best to avoid those three, although if the bike kid had been alone I
would have  said "Hi" at  least. The other two had bad news written all over
them so I turned around to walk back down the ramp off the boardwalk when I hear
"Hey you! Numbnuts. Get over here!" I'm thinking, "Fuck!"  Oh well, what the
hell, I saunter over to their little fun group  wondering what baby face needs
now. Even though it's a long shot, these could be friends... ya never know.


When I'm ten feet away, baby face  says, "Well, if it ain't the smart aleck,
wise-ass. What the fuck you doing  following me around?  Are you queer for me or
something?  You stalking me; is that it?" Perhaps a potential friendship
developing between us might be a much longer 'long shot' than I initially
thought. When ill at ease I stutter sometimes, and this was one of those times,
"Na, no, no!  I'm na, not following you. Don't be ridiculous. I, I had no idea
you'd be here, how  could I?"    Right back at me, he goes,  "What the fuck you
talking about?  I was here first, and then you show up. That's what", and he
puts up his quotation fingers, "following someone' is all about. Don't you know
what the words  means?"  His absurd question leaves me with this goofy frowning
expression on my  face, dumbfounded by his bizarre logic. I'm trying to think of
something to say when his arm snaps out and he grabs a fistful  of my hair;
then, using his  knuckles he pressed against my head and almost pulls my hair
out by the roots. My eyes start tearing immediately,  I'm like, "Please, dude,
don't... please stop! That really fucking hurts." The redhead kid asks, in a
semi-lisping manner, "This faggot been following you around, Mike?"   That's the
first time I'd heard his name... Mike. He then uses  his other hand to pinch my
nose real hard with his thumb and index finger, asking  "Well, aren't you
following me around, ya smart ass?"  I'm in pain with tears flowing down my
face, not from crying; it's an involuntary reaction. Mike continues pinching my
nose until mucus drools down my upper lip.  It's hard to say anything with my
nostrils pinched, but I managed "Nskew, I not follow yues."  "What the fuck kind
of language is that?"  Mike asks, with a phony  concerned look on his face.  He
let go of my nose then, but deliberately and slowly dragged his  index   finger
through the mucus all along my upper lip and then down my top lip with his
finger catching the top of my bottom lip pulling it inside out, flat against my
chin exposing my bottom teeth and gums.  Moving his face real close to mine,
looking sincere, he says, "You have very white teeth." Then he rubs his  dirty
finger all along my  bottom teeth and up under my top lip and across my front
teeth. His breath smells like cigarettes and Juicy Fruit gum.

The hair pulling has become a dull ache by now, but I still couldn't move my
head.  Both my hands loosely hold onto Mike's wrist; the one pulling my hair.
I can smell the nicotine on his fingers as he pushes one of them inside my
mouth, then all over my tongue.  "Don't bite my finger, numbnuts.  You'd
probably like to bite my dick though, right?"  I talked  around his finger,
saying, "No Mike, I don't want to bite anything.  Really!  Please let go of  my
hair."  In that phony sincere manner, he says, "Oh, it's okay, you can call me
Mike? What's your name, numbnuts?" I stupidly gave him my full proper name, "I'm
Richard Mealy," and he goes, "Richard?" smirking at his friends who giggle at
the formality of "Richard". Mike goes, "Are you shitting me,  Richard? Is that's
what  everyone calls you?  You aren't a fag, are you, Richard?" Why I didn't
tell him my name is "Richie" I can't say, no one ever calls me Richard. I've
been called 'Richie' all my life. He's got me totally fucked up, but I finally
managed to say, "My friends call me Richie"  "You going  to buy us a pack of
cigarettes, Richard?" asks the  redhead, still using that strange lisping voice.
The chubby boy and Mike thought this a grand idea, and Mike tells me I can join
his gang except first I need  to stop stalking him, and second I need to buy a
pack of Marlboro Lights 100s, right now.  "Okay,  Richard?" I'm dumbfounded
again and say nothing, so Mike repeats himself,  "Richard,  you good with
this?"    I go, "Sure, yes, okay, but please let go of my hair." Mike let's go
with a shove on my shoulder and I stumble, almost falling.  The guys chuckle,
and say, "Whoops, easy there,  Richard!" My scalp tingles where Mike had yanked
my hair as I stupidly stare at Mike's hand where maybe a dozen of my hairs got
pulled out of my head and are stuck to his fingers. He sees them too, and yells,
"Ewww, get your hairs off my hand, Richard!" Holding his hand out I brush it
with my hand, knocking off the hairs, rolling my eyes at how dumb all this is.


Dumb, yes,  but just the same this whole thing with Mike is beginning to give me
a buzzing feeling in my belly, and I'm slightly lightheaded.  My hairs float
away in the breeze as Mike takes hold of my hand and holds it like a boy and
girl hold hands.  "Is this what you  wanted to do, Richard?  Hold my hand?"   It
felt so odd holding hands with another boy, but the buzzing, dizzy feeling
accelerated.  He continues looking me in the eyes, holding my hand without
anyone saying anything.   I take a deep breathe,  and then  another one; it's
all so unusual, so totally different than anything that's ever happened to me
before and I don't know what to do about  it.  The whole  mugging, if that's
what it is, has taken less then two minutes.  Mike, I suppose, sees I'm not
going to react, so he drops my hand, and says,impatiently, like he's finally
bored with the whole matter, "Right over there, Richard...that store sells
everything, including  cigarettes.  Marlboro Lights 100s.  Don't forget the
matches, and don't think about trying to run off."   Then Mike looks at his two
buddies and shakes his head, saying, "Fuck, what am I thinking?  He's not
running  anywhere; are you Richard?" Using both hands he slaps me on both my
shoulders, as I'm mumbling, "No, I wouldn't run off." I'm in a kind of trance.
When it seems he's done with me, I start for the store.   "Wait a second,
Richard!" Mike's apparently getting his second wind. "You're all sloppy looking,
Richard.  You don't want  to be all sloppy looking buying us cigarettes, do
you?  Now, you just stand there so I can  straighten you out. Your hair's a
mess, Richard."  Both his friends watch everything intently, grins on their
faces, snickering and nudging each other with each indignity Mike drops on me.
Using both hands, Mike ruffles my hair and when I lift my hands to push his
away, he grabs my jaw in a tight grip and  tells me to keep my hands down at my
sides. He's hurting my jaw so I comply, and he murmurs, "Good boy, Richard,"
then goes back to patting my head and running his fingers through my hair, and
up the back of my  head.  For some odd reason my dick firmed up, firmed enough
that I was worried I'd spring a boner and push out the front of my flimsy
shorts. When Mike finally finishes with my hair, it's sticking up all over my
head.  He steps back to view his work, smirks at his friends, and begins
touching all over my face with both hands, then another squeeze of my shoulders,
and  finally, using both hands, he tugs up the waist band of my basketball
shorts giving me a tight wedgie. I go, "Ooh!" as my nuts get squished. The guys
chuckle as I wait for another indignity, my dick firm and feeling strangely
good.

Maybe thirty seconds go by, then Mike says, "Okay, Richard, what are you waiting
for? You look good now.  I got you looking all better.  Run over and get  our
cigarettes and report right  back here.  Chop chop!"  The oddest  thing; I'd
felt that buzzing earlier and wondered what it was, but now I know for sure: my
balls are buzzing and my cock is almost bone hard from being bullied by this
uniquely attractive boy. Thankfully my hard on is covered pretty much by my T
shirt.  I simply can't believe or explain this boner; usually I need to pull my
pud for a couple of minutes to get a boner this hard. I walk to the store in a
daze; buying the cigarettes I get a shock. On the boardwalk Marlboro Lights
100's are $9.00 a pack.  I've never smoked  and therefore I'm only vaguely aware
of their cost, but certainly I didn't expect they'd be this much! Nothing  to be
done about it now though; just pay for them and hopefully buy my  release from
Mike-the-bully. Now that I'm away from Mike it seems absurd I sprung that boner!
 Fuck it! All I want is to get the off this boardwalk. Back to  the happy trio I
go; they ignore me for a couple of minutes as Mike finishes telling a meandering
story about a tomato farm, then he acknowledges my presents by nodding his  head
in the direction of the redhead. I hand the cigarettes to Reds because he has
his hand out.  Red opens the pack and passes them around, as Mike's asking,
"Richard, where are the matches?" I shrug, and mumble, "They didn't give me
any." He's pointing at the store, "Go back and get the matches, Richard. We
can't smoke without matches.  That's how you light a cigarette, Richard, with a
match; unless you want to buy us a lighter."  Shaking my head 'no' to the idea
of buying them a lighter, I go back to the busy store for matches, then back
across the boardwalk to hand the pack to Mike. My boner is just a pleasant
memory by now.  Everyone lights their  cigarette; including me as they've
insisted I join  them. I have no fight in me at all by now and I take the
cigarette and the light without arguing about it. My first inhale almost had me
passing out from coughing.  How can that thin wispy smoke hurt my lungs so
badly?  Mike,  Reds, and the other one laugh hysterically.  They make me finish
that cigarette, then one more after that.  I took only tiny inhales, then blew
the smoke right out, trying to keep it out of my lungs.  Some got in my lungs
anyway and I felt slightly nauseous by the time I was done the second disgusting
cancer stick. "You smoke like a girl, Richard. You're not a girl are you because
you can't join our gang if you've got a cunt." I assured him, "No, Mike, I'm not
a girl."  He goes,  "Okay then, Richard, run along now; your first gang meeting
is over. Wasn't it fun, Richard?"  I mutter, "Yes, it was fun," then wait for a
few seconds expecting Mike to  have something else for  me to do, but he waves
his hands at me like he's shooing away seagulls, saying,  "Go,  go, go!  The
meeting's over, Richard."  I slink away, then down the ramp off the  boardwalk
to head for home; on the way I thought about what happened. I  was bullied and
made to spend my precious money on their cigarettes, and somewhere along the
line I'd sprung a boner... that's the oddest thing ever! And, Mike didn't say
"Thank you" to me this time either, and it's the second favor I've done for him.


It's no laughing matter of course and I felt sick; a little from the cigarettes
and a lot because of  the wimpy way I acted. I'm confused why Mike has such an
affect on me though; I don't even know him; why's he so mean to me? I'm puzzled
alright, but I can't think what to do about it except make a pact with myself to
stay away from the boardwalk; avoid the bullying of Mike and the mocking
chuckles of his so-called gang.  Not being able to go on the boardwalk  really
pisses me off though because I had big  plans for re-exploring all up and down
it's entire length, and maybe making a friend in the process. There's so many
different and interesting things on the boardwalk,  things to see and enjoy:
amusement rides, a million different food stands and junk shops, and beach
supplies and cool clothing shops, and salt  water taffy, and music and penny
arcades, and fudge that's made right in front of your eyes, oh hell, everything
you can think of is on the boardwalk. I like wandering up and down it's length,
but for now I better stay clear of it because I don't see how any good can come
of running into my 'gang' again.


In coming days I worried I'd run into Mike, but after a week I was less diligent
and, of course, I ran into him. It was outside the convenience store I go to
every morning for the old man's coffee, Danish, and cigarettes.  I wasn't paying
attention and bumped into the redheaded kid as he and Mike were coming out of
the  store.   Mike's bike was right  there to be seen if I hadn't been in a
fog.  "Richard!  Richard!  Richard!" he says, "you missed the last gang
meeting.  Where ever do you hide, Richard?  We haven't seen you around in
ages."  Mike's right in front of me, walking at me, and I'm backing up until I'm
backed up against the outside wall of the store. He stays up close to me, all
over my space if ya know what I mean. His energetic greeting has me flustered
again as I try to say "Hi,"  but it catches in my throat and comes out like a
squeak. Mike's chest is bumping mine, as he goes, "Richard, I asked you a
question."  Before I can answer he grabs a fist full of my  crotch.  He's
captured my nuts and a part of my cock, squeezing tightly, and I go, "Please
Mike, that's wicked painful," as I'm bending over at the waist.  Mike massaged
my crotch  more gently, my forehead resting against Mike's chest; he ruffles my
hair like he did on  the boardwalk.  When I've caught my breathe and relaxed
slightly, he lets up on my balls and I straighten up. Mike looks at me
mischievously, then cups behind my hand with his free hand, and pulls my head
against against shoulder, the side of my forehead up against his cheek. He
whispers, "Am I hurting your nuts?"   I start straightening and pulling away
from him so he grabs the waistband of my flimsy nylon basketball shorts pulling
me up tight against him.  In the same quick motion he let go of my balls for a
split second, quickly grabbing just my cock; he's holding it with two fingers
and his thumb.  Every unexpected  thing he does keeps me totally off balance,
and at his mercy.


Using two fingers and his thumb he strokes up and down on my flabby cock a few
times."Hows that feel, Richard? Ya know, Tony here says you had some tenting in
your britches the last gang meeting, and I says to him, 'Tony, ya don't  think
Richard's some  kind of queer or  something, do ya?' and he says he does. Can ya
imagine that?"   Mike gently  strokes my cock and, as he talks in his sarcastic
manner, I'm getting the beginnings of a boner which soon has me gasping for
air.  His strong hold on my waistband keeps me tight up against him so that our
faces rub together. I can't move away from him and his continual gentle
massaging of my now totally hard cock gets me grunting and blushing like crazy.
My face burns a bright red color as my boner tries raising up to point at my
chin.  My hands are holding onto Mike's waist and I almost want to put my arms
around him.   I'm fully boned now as Mike does full swift  strokes on my boner;
the head of my cock has slipped out of the pee slit of my boxers and is rubbing
against the inside of my silky shorts; each stroke of my cock creates sensations
all around my groin and has me squirming in Mike's grasp.



"Jeez,  Richard, are you fucking deaf?  I asked you how  this feels."  All I
could say was "Please  don't...Ahh  ohh!  Please stop! It's, um..."  We were
very close together with him pulling me into him with that strong waistband
grip. I could smell his cigarette breath on my face; now I was aware of Mike and
my cock and that's about all there was in my world.  He held me there for a
couple of minutes as the redheaded kid sort of blocked us from the view of the
casual observer; oddly, the whole scene began to have an erotic affect on me.
Mike tightened his strokes and I knew there's no chance I could stop my organism
now; I'm very close to spunking in my drawers, but I gave it one last try.
"Please stop Mike...I'll buy you another pack of cigarettes..Ahh  Ah Ah Ah...!"
I couldn't even finish my sentence, I went up on my toes with the feeling of
 climax coming on me fast. Mike's face touches  the side of mine, as  he
whisper,  "This feel good, Richard?"  I was beyond talking as a squirt of  cum
shoots  from my boner and quickly wets through my pants. "Aghh  ohh" as another
long squirt floods my shorts and I just give up and squeeze out three smaller
squirts." I was pretty much laying against Mike's body by now. The redhead
yells, "Look at that! The fag wet his pants."  Hearing the commotion, an older
couple on the other side of the street looked over at us, but they couldn't have
heard what was said and it's unlikely they'd ever guess what was going on.

Mike held the waistband for another minute or so as he breathed in and out
quickly with short hot bursts, I could feel his heart beating as he held me
against him, then he let out a long exhale and slowly let go of me, asking,
 "Did you just cum in your pants, Richard?"  For the first time in years I felt
like crying; there's a  big wet cum spot spreading out on  the front of my
shorts.  I  think maybe even Mike was embarrassed for me  this time.  He left it
at that.  None of us knew what to do next.  Mike had a guilty look on his face
as he starts to turn away, then he did one last grab of my head; he got it
between both his hands, and quietly says, "Look at me, Richard." Our eyes met,
and in almost a whisper, he asks, "You okay?"  I just barely nod my head, trying
to decide what that look in his eyes meant.  His parting remark was, " Geez,
Richard, I didn't know I turned you on so much.  Don't miss our next gang
meeting.  Okay? .... Okay?"  I nod my head, in a sort of trance, then turn
around and go back to the house to change my shorts. The humiliation was huge,
but it had only involved Mike and the redhead, who I think is Tony.  I
rationalized that I didn't care what those two thought....fuck them!   But, I
did need to consider the fact that I spunked in my pants being  jerked-off by
another boy, and it happened really  fast too; a lot quicker  then when  I jerk
myself off.  No one has ever touched my  cock that I know of, except me, until
now. Well, technically Mike didn't touch my cock; my shorts and boxer underwear
had been between his hand and my dick, as if that makes it okay...  I shook my
head at that.

Dad's in the shower when I run into the house so I avoided a slap in the face at
least.  Quickly changing my shorts and underwear, I'm thinking about  Mike's
hand around my cock and again my dick gets firm and feels squirmy. What the
fuck? I'm not queer! Making myself think about other things I ran back to the
convenience store to buy the old man's breakfast stuff.  My goal was to
completely forget  about the jerk off, but that was easier said then done. At
times later  that day I'd replay my experiences with Mike and try to make sense
of it.  For example, why don't I  hate Mike for the   cruel bully that he
is? Okay, maybe hate's too strong a  word; how 'bout despise.  Why don't I
despise that bastard or at least feel really, really angry?  Why, instead, do I
feel funny in my tummy when I think about leaning against Mike while he jerked
me off?   I tried to figure out what that's all about, but couldn't come up with
any answers; just total confusion.  Mike is a totally new experience in my life
and that's as far as my analysis got to. Him being gay doesn't seem likely; too
macho, and his playmates aren't the gay type either; not that I'm an expert on
gay types.  It's more likely Mike's one of those gay 'basher'  guys! Oh hell,
this whole subject simply isn't something that's ever come up in my circle of
friends; when I had friends, that is.  I've never known gay guys or gay bashers.

Continuing to analyze the gay angle, I thought of a few years ago when my two
best buddies and me were  having weekly circle  jerks. We were about 13 at the
time  and the circle jerks didn't last for more than a couple of months 'cause
Dougie said it was too queer.  I don't recall being particularly disappointed we
stopped doing it. Here's something else: what do I usually think about when I'm
jerking off? Hmmmm?...what do I think about?  I guess, nothing... except how
good it feels.  Maybe I should be thinking about girls while I'm doing it; well,
at least I'm not thinking about boys. In the bathroom later that evening before
my shower, I had my usual wank and it was feeling pretty good; I  wasn't
thinking about anything particularly.  Then, as an experiment I thought of Mike
stroking my pecker and right away my cock swelled. I was soon grunting and
fisting my cock in a blur, then quickly shooting off a stream of cum that came
out with such force it burned my pee hole.  Now I'm really confused, and a
little bit scared  too. Why would thinking about that bully make me cum like a
race  horse?  I'm embarrassed to say I cried a few dumb tears for a minutes or
so, feeling afraid and confused again, also I felt sorry for myself for some
reason.  Stupid!

Over the next few days I went 'on line' many times trying to find out what's
wrong with me. There's so much information there, lots of it conflicting too, so
it's pretty much useless to me; I don't know how to tell which is correct.
Sadly, there isn't anyone I can talk to about this. Then I got the urge to
connect with my buddies from my old neighborhood, just to touch base with
something normal, or what used to be normal. I texted with a few kids, none of
them are gay as far as I know, and even if  they were gay, what would I say to
them? I mean, what would I be willing to share about my 'Mike' experiences? The
boys texted back eventually but it seems they've already moved on   without
their  old buddy, Richie. I guess that shouldn't be a surprise, but  it makes me
feel really lonely just the same. It's pointless, a waste of time to look to my
past for help with my future. And, anyway, how does a single encounter with
another boy jerking me off change me into a homo?  That don't make any sense!

In coming days I tried thinking about other boys while jerking off and the
results were inconclusive. However, thinking about Mike while jerking was
definitely conclusive. With Mike in my head I climax like a fire hose, and it
feels incredibly awesome. The awesome feeling doesn't last long though; I don't
want to be gay, so after climaxing I make myself think of anything but Mike and
then, the very next jerk-off something will pop into my mind, like his baby face
will flash by, and it really excites me. Or, I'd think about how the palm of his
hand felt when he held my hand on the boardwalk that time, any thought of him
soon  gets me  spurting cum all  over the place! Damn!  After a week I  stopped
trying to analyze the whole mess and came up with another plan.  Now I want to
run into Mike again, just to see what happens. I have no expectation of what
might happen, but maybe whatever it is it will clear up something; clear up
anything.  Oh fuck... I guess I just want to see him again. It isn't much of a
plan, 'find Mike!' but it's all I got.  It soon became apparent, however, that
he isn't easy to find but at least I'm free to explore the boardwalk again. So
many people walking the boards and I don't know any of  them.  I'm beginning to
have real lonely periods; not actual depression I don't think, but I'm sad and
lonely.  I now realize now how much my friends had meant to me back home, but
that was then and this is now. The guys I used to hang with are already paying
less attention  to me every day. When we email it's more them telling me about
the new stuff in their lives; for example,  they talk about the 'chick' that
moved into me and my mother's old place.  She's hot, they say.  The chick, not
my mother. My old friends are moving on and leaving me behind.  There's nothing
I can do about it except what I'm already doing, which is feel sad and lonely.
Life really, really sucks!!


It had been a week or more since I last saw Mike, or any of his so called gang.
Then, one day as I explored way down the far end of the boardwalk, Mike came
into my  life again. What happened was this: I'm walking along the boardwalk
when I see two real bad ass looking dudes about 25 years old, they're painting
the front of a hot dog stand.  Both guys had their shirts off showing tattoos
almost as ugly as their mean faces;  they might be Hispanic. Whatever... I'm
thinking how "I better get the  hell back to a safer part of the boardwalk,"
when the heavy set badass looked  over at me, and asks, "What the fuck yuse
looking at, trolo? ... ya skinny mother fucker?"  I stared at him a second,
thinking to myself, "I hate this god damned town with a passion!"  To his rude
question, I replied, "Not much..." and he says, "Come on over here, I wanna show
ya sumpting".  I start to turn away and that's when I saw Mike. He's walking
towards me, half a block away, wearing cool blue sunglasses and  eating a cone
of soft ice cream.  Mike called out in a calm voice,  "Richard... come towards
me.  Don't go near those assholes."  I stare at him; he'd just gotten a fresh
buzz cut and his sunburn has faded to tan; he looked awesome, and cool! I froze,
staring at him, my legs feeling weak and my dick tingling. Mike's natural
swagger was very evident as he throws his cone in a trash container and
continues walking slowly  towards   me, a tense expression on his face. A chill
ran down my  back as I realized there's danger in the air....


to be continued.....


Donny Mumford     thinkat20@yahoo.com