Date: Mon, 17 Feb 2003 04:11:01 -0600
From: Kryton Ex <krytonex@hotmail.com>
Subject: Scott and Scamp

Disclaimer: This story contains sex between two consenting
male teens. If this offends or upsets you in any way, please
stop reading now.   I love input, feel free to email me.


                       Scott and Scamp


     I never thought my story was worth telling, but then
again, I am not really telling my story. I am telling his.
Let me introduce myself, my name is Justin Smith. I would
say I am just an average kid, but that is not true.  I am
the kid that the average kid can't remember.  If you are an
average kid then we probably share about three classes and
even though my name sounds vaguely familiar you can't
connect a face to it and if you ever saw a picture of me, I
would be the kid you had seen around school whose name you
never learned.  That was my existence and I was quite
content with it.  I wasn't happy, but I wasn't miserable
either.
     I was half way into my freshman year when I met him.  I
had just turned 15, yet I was still very small.  I am 5'3
and I weigh 110 pounds soaking wet.  I have medium blond
hair that stops at my cheeks and bluish grey eyes.  Both my
size and being a freshman got the attention of one group at
school.  They called themselves the High Rollers, a group of
popular seniors and juniors that took amusement in torturing
me.  Like I said, I am small and I fit into lockers well.  I
never took their actions to heart.  I guess I felt like I
deserved it and at least they noticed I was alive.  There is
an intimacy with being beaten up that forever connects you
to those that bullied you.
     I didn't hate the High Rollers, but I did fear them.  I
feared that one day their games would cause me actual pain.
But honestly their bullying was the only thing left that let
me know I was still alive.  My parents are good people, but
we aren't close.  We don't talk, we never have; we are
strangers.  I know why I never talked, I am gay and I was
afraid if I ever got close to anyone that they might know.
I wonder what secrets my mom and dad were hiding, because
they were as quiet and shy as I was.  The bullies at school
called me a fag and a pansy when they beat me up, which
happened about twice a week,  (other taunting like taking my
lunch happened more often) but the name calling didn't
bother me because I knew that they didn't really know.  If
they ever knew how right they were then it would hurt.
     But like I said this is not my sad pathetic story, it
is his.  His name which I will only say this once, as
promised, is Francis Scott II, but anyone valuing their life
called him by his last name, Scott. The first time I saw him
was when he moved in next door.  He and his father were
carrying in the furniture.  They were both big men.  Well
everything is big compared to me so let me elaborate.  Scott
was of normal size, maybe 5'10, and 175 pounds?  I am not
quite sure, but he was built.  Not bulky, but it was obvious
he worked out.  He had short dark brown hair (about an inch
and a half at its longest parts) and tanned skin; looking at
him and his father I guessed they were Italian.  His father
was huge, bulky and scary in my opinion.  He didn't look
mean, but he did look like someone you did not want to mess
with.
     I peeked out of the front window all day watching the
two of them move in bed frames, mattresses, dressers, a
fridge and finally boxes.  By nightfall they were done and
my show was over.  It was quite a show because Scott had
taken of his white undershirt hours ago and had been moving
stuff sweaty and topless.  The next morning when I went out
to get the mail I saw him working on his bike, he had a
motorcycle.  He saw me and nodded hello, I nodded back and
continued to get the mail.  When I looked back up I saw him
heading to the small white fence that separated our yards.
I took his queue and headed there too.
     "Hi, I am Scott." He said while wiping the grease of
his hand on his white undershirt and extending it to shake
mine.
     "Hi, I am Justin." I managed to stutter out while
shaking his hand.  He had a firm grip, but I guess most
people who initiate handshakes know how to do it well.  He
released my hand and went back to his bike.  I went in the
house not being one for small talk.  I did look at my hand a
few times that day, the whole day it felt like it was still
in Scott's firm grip.  I wondered if he had that effect on
everyone.
     The next day was Monday so it was time for me to go
back to school.  No more sitting home all day spying on the
neighbors.  Now, if I had to guess Scott's age after our
first meeting, I would have guessed twenty-two.  I found out
just how wrong I was when I saw him enter my English class
that Monday morning.  The teacher introduced him. "Class
this is Fr."
     "Just call me Scott," he quickly interrupted.
     "Okay, Mr. Scott. Please take a seat."
     Scott took a seat near the back and class went on.  As
the teacher told us the story of the book no one really read
over the weekend I was staring at Scott.  He had on a
leather jacket that said "Regulators" on the back in white
lettering surrounded by red mist.  He was wearing a real t-
shirt which made me sad.  I like him in his undershirts.  He
reminded me of those 1950s rebels with their jackets and
bikes and white t-shirts.  Scott had an image and he was in
no way trying to hide the fact that it was "an image".  In
high school people tend to play roles and either they don't
realize they are doing it, or they think no one will notice.
Scott was playing the original bad boy and I thought that
was really cool.
     School took its normal path and I found myself being
thrown against lockers during lunch period.  Here we go
again, I thought, as Chad and the other High Rollers began
to throw me around the hall.
     "Hey faggot, you thought you could hide from us by
skipping lunch? Don't you know I can smell you whereever you
go?" His friends were laughing and egging him on as he
searched my pockets for any money I had, I long ago learned
not to carry around money or anything else I wanted to keep.
     Just then the unimagined happened.  Scott pushed Chad
off me. "Get the fuck off him!" he said.  I just stood there
in shock, no one ever stood up to Chad, and they sure as
hell did not stand up for me.
     Chad got his balanced and wiped the shock off his face
long enough to say, "Just because you think you are Billy
Dean or some shit does not mean you are too good for an ass
beating."
     Scott just smiled, and gestured for them to attack.
"Bring it."
     "You are such a dumbass if you think you can take all
five of us." Chad told him as he began to throw a punch.
     Scott grabbed Chad's fist mid punch, twisted his arm
behind his back, then whipped out a knife and put it to
Chad's throat.  "I am pretty sure if I kill you, your
buddies will back off."
     Picking on me is a normal part of life, but weapons at
school, that just did not happen here.  It was like one of
the biggest taboos in all the world.  I was amazed, but the
High Rollers were pretty scared.  Maybe I was wrong about
the whole bad boy thing being just an image.  "He's fucking
nuts." Chad yelled as he managed to get out of Scott's grip
all of them started running down the hall.  Having once
shaken hands with Scott I knew he let Chad go.  I was kind
of hoping he would cut him, just a little.
     "Are you okay?" Scott was reaching out his hand to help
me off the floor where I had sunk after Chad had let me go.
     "Yeah, how did you know I was out here?"
     "I didn't.  I was heading out to have a joint when I
saw you. Care to join me?" He said waving a bag of weed in
my face.
     "Sure." I excitedly said like the big geek that I am.
     We headed out of the school into the woods behind them
where people go to make out after school.  Scott rolled and
lit a joint.  He had to teach me how to smoke considering I
had no idea what I was doing.
     "Now, hold it in." he said. Scott was a good teacher,
with one hand on my back and the other on my chest, he was
showing me how to breathe in the smoke and hold it for as
long as I could.  I choked my ass off.  I thought I was
going to cough up a lung and die.  I could not understand
why the hell anyone would do this for fun.  Then came the
calm.  Everything was so clear and cloudy at the same time.
I thought I was a god.  I thought about things no one ever
thought of! I did not realize I was high, I just thought I
was really smart all of a sudden.
     "Why is it called a fly and not a buzz?" I asked.  "It
buzzes as much as it flies and what idiot thought to name
things by their mode of travel? I mean are we called walkers
or people?"
     Scott just laughed, "Scamp, you are fucked up."
     Yes, I was fucked up and I continued to say really dumb
shit for the rest of the day.  By the time school ended I
was clear headed enough to realize what an idiot I was.  I
began walking home wondering how I was going to explain my
odd behavior tomorrow. Then I heard Scott's bike pull up
behind me. "Hey Scamp, what are you doing?"
     "Um.walking home."
     "You live two miles away!"
     "I like walking." In other words some of the High
Rollers ride the same bus route as me, thus I had been
walking home for months.
     "Get on."
     I could not think of any way to decline his order, so I
got on.  He took off and I was scared witless.  I grabbed
hold of him for dear life.  No helmets, no nothing and I did
not even have the coordination and balance needed to ride a
bike with training wheels.  Well a few minutes after I
realized I was going to survive this, I took notice of my
position.  There I was with this hot guy, my head buried in
his back and my hands grabbing his abs like my life depended
on it (which it did at the speed he was going).  And my
hardening cock against his ass.  Oh no! Hardening cock! I
tried to think of every non-sexual disgusting thing I could,
but nothing worked. This was the closest I had ever been to
another guy and it felt too good.
     So there I was, hot guy in a tight squeeze, hard on
poking him in the butt. Looks like I am getting my ass beat
anyway.  I wonder how long we had stopped before he had
actually said something.
     "I know you are enjoying the ride, but you have been
home for like five minutes now.  We can do it again
tomorrow."
     I opened my eyes and we were in front of my house.  I
hopped of the bike, my legs vibrating and shaking at the
same time.  He pulled up a few feet and went into his own
driveway and we both walked into our respective houses.  I
was so embarrassed, yet so turned on.  I laid in my bed and
began stroking my cock through my jeans.  I had to get off.
I took of my pants and underwear and got back into bed in
nothing but my shirt.  That is how I felt most comfortable.
I grabbed the lotion from under my bed and began stroking
myself when the phone rang.  It was my own personal line
that never rang unless a telemarketer was calling.  I
stopped in midstroke and answered the phone.
     It was Scott.  "You might want to close your shades."
     I shot up.  My bed was against the window, but
sideways, so the sun would not be in my face.  The lady that
lived next door before used the room across from mine for
storage, so I spent all my life not having to worry about
privacy in that regard.  But as I sat up I saw not a good
three feet away from me in a recliner, with a phone to his
ear, was Scott.  He had gotten the full show from my waist
down.  I froze with embarrassment.  There was no way he
could know he was the topic of today's fantasy, but I was
hoping for a quick and painless death at that moment to end
the humiliation.  Scott seeing how hard I took it; had a
change in expression.  He thought it was funny but his
chuckle turned into a frown when he realized I was so upset.
     "Sorry Scamp, I didn't mean to freak you out." He hung
up the phone and closed his shades.
     I could not go to school the next day.  I could not
face him again.  So of course after around noon he comes
crawling through my window, which is on the second floor. I
had no idea how he got up there.  There is ton of shock and
surprise when some guy you barely know climbs into your bed.
He of course climbed out of it when he was safely in the
room, but feeling some weird thing putting pressure on your
mattress when you think you are home alone watching TV made
me jump a good 2 feet.
     "Why aren't you at school?" I asked.
     "Why aren't you?" He replied.
     "I'm sick." Hey, it worked on my parents.
     "No, you aren't"
     "Fine, then. I am embarrassed."
     "About what?"
     "About what? About getting a hard on, about getting
caught beating off not ten minutes later.  What do you mean,
about what?"
     "Oh.that? Don't sweat that." Like him telling me not to
care could make me magically not care.
     That is when the dumbest thought of them all crossed my
mind.  Maybe Scott is being so cool about this because he is
gay and likes me, but is too shy to make the first move.  As
I was sitting there thinking about this, my face looked as
though I was somewhere else.
     "What is it, Scamp?"
     I didn't say a word.  He was on his knees at my bed,
between me and the TV, so we would be face to face as we
talked.  I leaned in to kiss him.  His hand grabbed my neck
to stop my advancing lips.  To someone looking on, this
seemed to be a dangers situation for me.  My neck is so
small his hand almost enwrapped the whole thing.  But I knew
what his grip could be and he was being very gentle with me,
regardless of how it looked.  "Whoa." he said, "what the
hell are you doing?" there was a growing annoyance in his
voice.  I easily escaped his grasped by moving my head in a
direction opposite of his face.  I sat up in bed and brought
my knees up to my chest.
     I began crying.  I never cry, not when I am being
beaten, not when I am being ignored. Never!  But there I
was, crying.  Not because I thought Scott was going to hurt
me, but because of the lost possibility of him being with
me.  I never hoped to be happy, but for one split second, I
did.  I had hope and the fall was just too great for my
fragile heart to take.   Scott took a seat next to me on the
bed and pulled me close him.  I laid against him tears upon
tears falling on his chest.  He didn't say a word.  He just
held me.
     Eventually, I stopped crying, but I did not move and he
did not try to move me. "Why did you help me yesterday?"
What I wanted to say, was why did you come to my rescue and
pretend to be my knight if you really weren't?  But how
could I phrase it like that?
     "Tell anyone this and I will kill you," he chuckled,
"but I guess it is because you remind me so much of myself."
     I was very confused.  I was nothing like him.  He was
so brave and I was a coward.  He was so cool and I was a
dweeb.  He was everything and I was nothing.  What did we
have in common?
     "Now I have a question for you.are you.um..do
you.um..like guys?"  That was the first time I had ever
heard Scott have trouble finding the right words.
     I just nodded, which because of my position was more of
a rubbing my head up and down on his chest.
     "That's cool." He mumbled as he began stroking my hair.
"But I am not like that, so you can't be trying to kiss me
and stuff, okay?"
     I nodded.
     "I want us to be friends Scamp, can we be friends?"
     I nodded again.
     "Good."
     We sat there quietly with him stroking my hair and
eventually we started watching TV and talking.  He left
around midnight that night.  He got his wish.  We did become
friends, the best of friends.  We had the friendship one has
when no one else in all the world knows you are alive.  The
world did not take much notice of Scott and I, but we were
happy.  I rode home with him every day on his bike, we were
inseparable.  His parents loved me because they thought I
was a wonderful influence on their son, so they damn near
moved me in.  I am not sure if my parents have even noticed
my absence yet.
     Scott really was a bad boy.  He spent most his life in
and out of juvenile detentions. When I saw family photos of
him for the first time, I understood how I reminded him of
himself.  Scott used to be very short and thin.  I saw a
picture and I guessed he was 10; he was 15 in that picture.
He was currently 17 and the reason he was in sophomore
English (I was a freshman, but I was in sophomore English)
was because he spent so much time in jail and so little time
in school.  He had a temper.  Never with me, but I never did
anything to upset him.  All his life he had been a little
ball of anger and after his growth spurt he was a big ball
of anger.  He had done a lot of damage to a lot of people in
his past and that is why his family moved, to get him out of
his element.
     There was only one little problem with our perfect
friendship.  I was in love with Scott.  He knew because I
told him, but what could he do? He was straight.   He showed
me more affection then he would have if I had been straight.
He would cuddle with me and stuff.  But whenever I tried to
turn things sexual, he would gently, yet firmly, stop me.
     On this particular day I was laying in bed with him
watching TV, my head resting on his bare chest and my hand
playing with the hairs on his stomach.  My hand slowly made
its way to his pants line where I tried to get my fingers
under the elastic band of his underwear.  He took my hand
and moved it back to his stomach.  I waited a few moments
and tried again.  By the third attempt he said, "Scamp,
stop," as he moved his hand back to his stomach.  I felt
like a scolded dog.  I jumped out of bed and put my shirt
back on.
     He stood up behind me and wrapped his arms around me.
"You aren't going, are you?"
     I didn't say anything I just stood there pouting.
     "Please don't go. I will miss you to much." He said in
the sweet voice one only uses with a lover as he nuzzled my
neck.
     "You don't know what it feels like."
     "I am sorry."
     "It hurts, being this close to you and loving you this
much, and not being able to be with you."
     "I'm sorry, but I'm."
     "I know." I shot back, I could not here him say it
again.  One little label keeping me from utter bliss.  I had
come to hate the word.
     "Well, what do you want me to do?"
     "You know what I want you to do."
     "You know I can't do that."
     "Just kiss me."
     "I can't"
     "You can't be too straight to kiss me, no one is THAT
straight."
     "It won't be enough.  You will want more and I cannot
give you more."
     "Just kiss me, I promise I won't try anything else, if
you kiss me."
     "Okay." He finally surrendered.  I had begged for him
to do stuff with me all the time and it was always no, but
this was a pretty big fight this time.  I guess my anger had
worn him down.
     He turned me around and took my face in his hands.  He
leaned in and kissed me.  At first it was just on the lips,
but as his hands worked their way down my arms to my waist
his kiss became deeper.  His tongue parted my lips and
entered my mouth.  I felt weightless. Then I realized that
was because he had picked me up and my feet were off the
ground.  He placed me on his bed and climbed on top of me,
never breaking our kiss.   His body on top of mine felt like
a huge warm blanket.  This was what I wanted; only one thing
could make it better.  I worked to get my shirt back off,
only breaking our kiss long enough to get it over my head.
His lips moved to my cheek and then to my neck.  I did the
same.  When I started nibbling on his neck he began to moan.
He had stopped kissing me, whatever I was doing had taken
his concentration.  I felt his dick hardening against my
already hard dick.  He began grinding against me and for a
moment I lost my concentration and stopped nibbling on his
neck.
     "Don't stop." He mumbled and I went back to what I was
doing.  He grinded against me faster and I knew if he kept
this up I was going to cum.  That was when I realized that
he was trying to make himself cum.  He must have really
liked what I was doing. I know I liked what he was doing.
His flesh got slightly damp from sweat as I kneaded my
fingers into his back.  I was coming and so was he.  Neither
of us had even removed our jeans.  He collapsed on top of me
and as he was motioning to get off me, I grabbed him and
held him there.  He was too spent to put up much of a fight
and I think he was moving for my benefit, in order not to
squash me under his body weight.  But I wanted every pound
of him on me and in me for that matter.  I don't think he
intended to take us as far as he did.  I think I must have
pushed a button.  Boy I hope he lets me push it again.  We
drifted off to sleep in that position, him acting as the
best blanket I ever had.


To be continued.

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