Date: Sun, 20 Feb 2011 15:47:13 -0600
From: Martin Heidegger <mheidegger@hotmail.com>
Subject: Gold Dick

			The Queer Road

DISCLAIMER: These are fictional stories of teen aged boys in conflict over
their sexuality.  There are graphic descriptions of sexual activity, mostly
homosexual.  If you aren't allowed to view such material, stop now.  The
author retains copyright.

			Gold Dick


	Buster was the neighborhood bully.  He got that nickname because he
was an incorrigible child, always in trouble.  He was my friend in grade
school because he lived nearby, and there was no one else my age.  I was
always the big kid even in those days, Northern European genes I guess.
Buster liked to form a group of kids, even if most were younger than we
were, and go on some kind of rampage.
	"I smell trouble!" He'd say if we got a group of even three or four
together; sometimes it would be a broken window, a flower bed trashed or
the garden ornaments stolen, dogs and cats chased or mistreated, and once
we turned over an outhouse.
	Yeah, this was a long time ago.  I got my ass whipped a dozen times
because of Buster, but he was fun to be around, always had a plan, always
good for a joke, or a story. When we got older the games took on a darker
tone, Buster showed a sadistic side, and I think it was because his dad was
that way.  When I got whipped, Buster got beaten.  Sometimes he'd miss
school, and several times I'd be with him right when the phone would ring
with a report of our recent mischief.  His dad worked for the street
department, and he'd be sitting in his work clothes, dirty and tired.  He'd
answer the phone and I could see him cloud up listening to what we'd done,
then send me home. It was ugly.
	Buster and I were about fourteen the last time we rampaged
together.  It was just the two of us on a Saturday afternoon and we'd been
to a movie.  We were about half home when Buster saw a kid walking ahead of
us, Murray Gold.  Murray's dad owned a dime store in town, and they lived
well.  Murray was coming back from his piano lesson carrying a sheaf of
music and sort of skipping down the street in his own world, probably
singing a song he'd just learned at his lesson.  He was our age, but skinny
and anything but athletic like Buster and I were.
	"Look, that Gold kid.  Let's take him!"  Buster said, excited to be
leading another expedition.
	"OK!" I said, the follower as usual.  It hadn't occurred to me yet
that without me to back him up, Buster wasn't that much of a threat to most
kids.  He could have handled Murray though.  We started running and quickly
caught poor hapless Murray, who dropped his music and made a futile attempt
at running.  I grabbed his arm.
	"No!  Wait, what do you guys want?"
	I held him, though I felt no malice toward him.  There was no
anti-semitism in our town, at least not that Buster or I knew about.
Murray was just a kid to mistreat, someone vulnerable at the wrong place
and the wrong time.
	"In here," Buster said, pushing through an overgrown hedge into the
yard of an abandoned house.  Murray struggled but I had him tight.  I
pushed him through and we followed Buster up the steps and through the open
door.
	The house hadn't been lived in for several years, and there were
papers and trash all around.  Buster hadn't found the windows yet, because
they were mostly intact.  Once inside we just walked around looking at the
litter, and I relaxed my hold on Murray.  He made no attempt to run.
	"Not a very good housekeeper," Murray commented while kicking
through a pile of dirty towels and rags.
	"Look at this!"  Buster exclaimed, pulling a box out of a closet.
It held hundreds of old photographs, mostly old family pictures but there
were some of a guy in uniform from a war long ago, probably World War I.
And, there were some 
French postcards.
	"Wow!"  Buster exclaimed as he found the first postcard, a nude
woman with big saggy breasts and a smile.  We gathered around, throwing the
family pictures aside to get to the French ones.  There were about half a
dozen.  "You think these are whores?"
	"What're whores?"  I asked.
	"You're dumber than him," Buster said.  "Murray, what's a whore?"
	"That's a woman who does it for money," Murray said quickly,
leaning over to get a better view.
	Then we turned up the last picture.  There was a man in this
picture, and it never would have made it through the postal system.  His
erect penis was halfway into the mouth of a woman who kneeled at his feet.
We were shocked, silenced.  I'd never seen anything like it, and my dick
was hard in an instant.
	"Whoa!  A suck job, wow look at her go on it."
	"That's a whore," Murray said.
	"Don't have to be a whore.  Girls do that shit all the time,"
Buster said, pushing Murray away, not letting him be the expert.
	"I don't know any that do," I said, wishing I were alone so I could
pull by dick out and beat it.
	We looked at the picture for several minutes, commenting on the
women and wishing we had one there with us right then.  Then Buster got
mean again.
	"I think it's time we had some trouble here.  Bobby, grab Gold.
I've got an idea."
	"Wait, guys.  Don't, maybe I could find some more pictures like
that," Murray said as I grabbed his arm again.  We were at the back of a
big old abandoned house, and it was on a big lot behind overgrown bushes
and trees.  Murray was at our mercy.  "Make him kneel down.  Let's see if
Murray likes to suck," Buster said.
	I twisted Murray's arm behind him, hard, and he dropped to his
knees.  We'd never done anything like this to anyone and I assumed Buster
was going to threaten Murray for awhile and then extract some money or a
promise to get something for us to let him go.  Murray's eyes were wide
with fear, but he didn't struggle because I went down with him still
twisting his arm.
	"No!  I'll tell," Murray said.  Big mistake.
	"Tell everyone you sucked my dick?  I'll bet you keep this all a
big secret, Murray.  I'll bet if we mention it Monday at school you'll deny
it."  Buster pulled out his dick.
	I'd seen his dick a few times when we pissed off a bridge or though
the open window of a parked car, but I'd never seen it hard.  I'd never
seen anyone's dick hard except that guy in the picture.  Buster wasn't
kidding at all, and he shoved his dick right at Murray's face.  Murray
dodged his head to the side and Buster rubbed dick over his cheek and
forehead.
	"I hear guys get to liking dicks if they try it.  Try it Murray,
you might like it."
	Murray struggled, but I had his arm and was bigger and stronger.
Plus, being on his knees left him no leverage to try to break free.  I
pushed him toward Buster.  I was astounded when Buster's dick slid into
Murray's mouth.  It was just the head at first, but once in Buster pushed
forward and more slid in.  Murray gagged and renewed his struggle.  He
pulled off.
	"You bite me and I'll beat you up and send you home naked," Buster
warned, mean now and determined.  He pushed his dick back at Murray.
	"I'm not a queer!"  Murray pleaded.
	"I don't care!"  Buster said, sliding between me and Murray so his
body could push Murray into the corner of the room.  I let go of Murray's
arm and he started to rise.  Buster grabbed his other arm and twisted,
Murray howled as he dropped back onto his knees.  Buster now stood above
him with Murray's right arm bent at the elbow and twisted back over his own
shoulder.  "Now suck!"
	I was out of it now, and glad to be.  If Murray did tell I could
say I let him go.  Buster pushed him further back into the corner, his body
blocked my view of Murray, but I could hear him coughing and gagging again.
Buster began to pump his hips slowly, apparently working his dick in and
out of Murray's mouth.  Murray continued to choke and sob.  I stepped into
the other room, ashamed.
	"Let him go, Buster," I said, without much conviction.
	"He's almost done," Buster said.  Now I just heard sucking and
looked around the corner.  Buster's hips were into an unrestrained rhythm
as he leaned into Murray, his weight supported by his right arm while his
left held Murray still.  Murray's head was against the wall in the corner,
he was immobile as Buster's dick pistoned in and out of his mouth.  His
eyes were wild, but he seemed resigned to his fate, sort of like I felt the
first time I rode a rollercoaster, just holding on until the bottom of that
first terrible drop.  I stepped back into the other room, ashamed to be
here, giving them some privacy.  I heard Buster moan and then Murray choked
again and began to cough.  Buster stepped back into the doorway and I saw
his dick, slimy and still hard.  Murray began to spit and cough.  He was
free now.  It was over.
	"Good job Murray.  Be a good boy and I might not make you do it
again," Buster said, subdued now that he'd had his climax.  He wiped off
his dick with a handkerchief and stuffed it back into his pants.
	Murray stood, wiping jism from his hair, cleaning his face off with
his handkerchief.  He was shaking but otherwise seemed remarkably composed.
He seemed to know the storm was over.  There was slime all over the floor
in the corner where the act had been completed.  I was in shock, and still
hard.
	"You want me to hold him for you?"  Buster asked, like he was
offering me a third of his Three Musketeers bar.
	"No."
	"Thanks," Murray said.
	We left the house and Buster never mentioned it again.  A few weeks
later, again on a Saturday, I was walking home from the movie alone and I
saw Buster and Murray walking together.  I thought it odd, they were hardly
friends, but the turn to my house came before they got to the old house and
I didn't follow.  Over the next year I learned to masturbate, and my
fantasies as I arced my young seed into the toilet or into the bushes
behind the garage were of the naked women I'd seen on the postcards and the
budding titties of the girls in my 9th grade class. My dick grew and I
noticed boys looking at it in the showers after football practice.  It was
a source of pride, to be a big boy with a big dick and I took my time
dressing.  Then something happened that added a twist.
	Eyes squinting coming out of the Saturday matinee I saw Murray Gold
half a block ahead of me.  He turned into an alley that led away from the
main street and toward the back of his father's store on the next block.  I
thought I'd give him a scare.  I ran back the other way and around the
block.  When he came out of the narrow part of the alley between two taller
buildings, I was waiting.
	"Hi Murray," I said, nonchalantly chewing on a straw, leaning
against the side of a building.
	"Bobby!"  Was all he said, eyes darting to the side looking for an
opening.
	I stepped into the center of the alley, blocking his way.  His fear
was thrilling, for the first time I knew how Buster had felt when we
bullied the kids in our neighborhood.  It was a guilty pleasure, but I
intended nothing other than a bluff and then a big laugh.  I thought we
might even go over to Gold's store and buy some candy.
	"You want what Buster wanted?"  He asked, no longer looking for an
exit, now looking behind him in the alley.
	"Uhh," was all I could get out.
	"Not here.  Please, not here.  There's a place over there," and he
pointed to the cotton warehouses along the railroad tracks.
	"OK."  I stepped back and he turned toward the tracks.
	"Just don't make me do it where anyone can see," Murray said as we
walked.  It was open and he'd never outrun me if he tried.  "There's a good
place in that second warehouse.  Nobody ever goes in there."
	Perpendicular to the main street was a street that ran along the
railroad right of way, and there were half a dozen cotton warehouses where
the bales were stored while buyers and farmers dickered over prices.  It
was late fall and the harvest was over, they would be mostly full. Murray
walked by the first warehouse, then ducked down to duck walk under the
second.  They were built up on concrete blocks because the river was across
the tracks and occasionally there were floods.  I followed him and in a
half a dozen steps he found a hole in the floor and pulled himself up.
	Dusty and dark, it smelled strongly of cotton dust.  Enough light
came in between the rough boards to see.  There were dozens of 480 lb
cotton bales, wrapped in burlap.  "Over there, that's where Buster made me
do it."
	So, Buster had been back for seconds, or thirds.  He'd never said
anything to me about it.  I followed Murray.  He climbed over the first
bale and sat down on the second.  He looked expectantly up at me as I
climbed over the bale.  I didn't know what to do.  No problem, Murray did.
	"Take it out," he whispered.
	I pulled my dick out, it was flaccid.  I shook it halfheartedly,
scared of this whole encounter.  Murray put his hand on it, warm and
soothing.
	"Bigger than Buster," he said, looking up at me.  I felt that power
feeling and my dick stirred.  Murray pulled the foreskin back, and it
plumped up more.  "Pull your pants down.  Nobody will come in here."
	I opened my belt and unsnapped the rest of my fly; he pulled my
jeans down over my buttocks, and then carefully slipped my jockey shorts
down.  The feeling of my shorts going down and the air on my bare butt got
me the rest of the way hard.  My dick is sort of flat, being wider than it
is thick.  Murray was kneeling now with his back against a bail while I
stood between two bales.  He held my hard dick and slowly pumped it a
couple times, then popped it into his mouth.  His tongue swirled over the
head and his lips pulled my foreskin back. It felt so good my knees buckled
and I almost fell.  He wrapped his hands behind my butt to steady me, and
kept them there.  My dick slowly disappeared into Murray Gold's mouth until
it was all gone, and his nose was in my pubic hair, then it slid out about
a third and he breathed through his nose a couple times then slid it back
in.  He deep throated my dick for a couple minutes then pulled off, licked
it up and down and pumped it with his hand while he looked up at me.
	"Our secret?"
	"Oh, yeah!"  I whispered.
	He went back down on it, only half way this time, and started
bobbing.  He caught my balls swinging below the action and just held them.
	"Don't," I said, pulling back.  I found that too sensitive.
	He resumed the bobbing now with his hands around my butt.  He
increased the suction and every third or fourth stroke would produce a
slurp or suck sound.  This went on for two or three minutes, then he pulled
back enough to get his hand around the base of my cock and pumped with his
hand and his mouth.  Without warning I got my climax.  Murray must have
known, because his hands were tight around my butt and when I lost control
he squeezed himself against me and my cock went off deep in his mouth.  I
was overwhelmed, nothing in my imagination had prepared me for the
intensity of what happened in that cotton shed.  I felt it all the way back
to my asshole as my semen squirted out, and I let Murray take it.  I
buckled and sagged back on the bale behind me, with Murray still sucking my
dick the whole way down.  I spread my legs and he climbed me, hands
kneading my butt, mouth full of my dick and cum.
	When I was done I pushed him off.  He stood up and spit into the
space between the bales across the isle.  I saw a bulge in his pants, but
we didn't say anything as we crawled back through the hole in the floor and
went our ways.