Date: Sat, 21 Oct 2006 11:11:24 EDT
From: Agr8catch916@aol.com
Subject: Unbeknownst

Caveats:

If sex between someone of the same sex is distasteful to you--STOP!  This
story is not for you.

If sex between consenting teenagers is distasteful to you--STOP! This story
is not for you.

If is illegal in your locale to read this type of story--STOP!  There are
many other stories from which you can choose.

All names have been changed to protect the innocent and the not so
innocent.

Any comments or feedback is welcomed. Send your comments to:
agr8catch916@aol.com


Acknowledgements:

I'd like to thank my good friend Tom who helped with editing and gave me
encouragement and also for his emotional support as this was a very
emotional thing for me to write.  Also thanks to Tristam DeJong, a fellow
author, for his assistance in getting this published.  Please, if you get
the chance read Tristam's works at:
http://www.xs4all.nl/~johnie/stories/stories.html


Prologue:

This a true story about a two year period in the life of a boy who left a
violent and abusive environment at the age of 15. It is a story of in which
for the first time in his memory he found caring, happiness, acceptance,
friendship and a companion. It is also a time of self-discovery.

In this story I did not linger on or go into great detail of the abuse and
sexual molestation as I wanted to focus on the good of the time.

Though this story does contain descriptive sexual encounters, it was not
written to be pornographic.  It's just what happened.

Now cast your eyes down and I hope you enjoy.
--Steven



UNBEKNOWNST
By: Steven Keiths--October, 2006


At first I was a little discombobulated as to where I was. I had passed
out, fainted. I had walked for I don't know how many hours in the searing
heat and had not had any thing to eat for over two days. This leaving home
hadn't been well thought out, actually there was no thought at all. I just
walked away.  Left. Ran away.  Not knowing at the time where I was headed
or what I would do.

I had had it.  I had been beaten and abused for the last time. I'd rather
die out here in this scorching hot desert sun than return to that crummy
cockroach infested house trailer to where that man would be. I would be
damned if I would return to that hellhole of a home. Where that drunken
useless excuse for a human being resided with me, my mother, two sisters
and three brothers. I was tired of the abuse; I was tired of going hungry;
I was tired of constantly living in fear and walking around on eggshells; I
was tired of lying in bed at night petrified he would one more time come in
drunk and start pounding on me for lord knows what reason. I don't think he
needed one.  I was tired of having to pack everything up and steal away in
the middle of the night as one more time Mr. Wonderful lost his job and we
were behind in the rent.  I was tired of the long hours walking in the
desert and along the roadsides collecting soda bottles to make sure we at
least had money for macaroni or peanut butter sandwiches to eat while that
asshole hocked and stole what ever he could to keep himself lubricated with
booze. I was tired of watching this man's drunken antics, especially, while
doing them in front of my younger siblings.

One time he ordered us into the kitchen. "I wanna' show ya' what a real man
is" he drunkenly slurred. So, the real man lays his hand on the kitchen
counter and proceeds to smash it repeatedly with a ball peen hammer until
it was bloody and almost unrecognizable.  Now I really didn't care if he
was a real man or not. I didn't even care if he smashed every limb and
digit on his body. What I abhorred was his forcing my three-year-old sister
and the other kids to watch this feat of manliness. This man, had you met
him, you'd think was the greatest guy who walked on two feet. He was so
smooth and glib that he could sell an ice cube to an Eskimo. No, I will not
return to that madness.

My name is Steven and at this time I was 15 years old, second oldest of
seven kids.  At the time I left home I had a 16-year-old brother who stayed
behind in Pennsylvania. We, the remainder, moved out west because
Mr. Wonderful convinced my mother we should do so. I didn't want to come
but my mother, changed her mind about me staying behind as agreed to at an
earlier time. "But Mom," I pleaded, "You said I could stay with Aunt Kay. I
don't want to leave here and my friends." "I know, but Bill doesn't think
you like him and I really want you to come as I'll need your help while we
get settled."  Bill thinking I didn't like him was important because?  I
acquiesced without further commotion to her request.  You see, she needed
me.  I would have drug my balls through ten mile of broken glass to get her
approval, attention and recognition.  We moved from Pennsylvania the place
I had lived for the first 14 years of my life. Leaving all with which I was
familiar and accustomed.  Leaving my few friends.  Leaving my first
unbeknownst to me love.

Mr. Wonderful, real name Bill, was correct however, I didn't like
him. Maybe it was a sixth sense. Maybe it was because my mother had really
bad choices in men.  This wasn't her first Mr. Wonderful to whom we were
exposed! Her picker was badly broken or in desperate need of repair. She
had this thing for drunks. Maybe it was his stupid laugh: He'd get this big
toothy grin on his face and "ah,ah,ahah ah, ah," and then sort of snort.
That wasn't a laugh. That was much like a four cylinder car engine trying
to start. It was so phony. Now, to this point I had no clue as to this
man's behavior as he had just started seeing my Mother and was the typical
out-to-impress-you-I can-do-no-wrong sort of guy.  In the beginning, Bill
was very attentive to my mother and my siblings.  He was a few years
younger than my mother and had never been married nor had ever had
kids. Something of which we were always reminded. "Now you know, Bill has
never had children of his own, so he is not use to...name anything...So he
gets angry if...name anything...". Angry!  That wasn't anger. It's called
being maniacally enraged.  Hell, I was beginning to believe he was the
Hulk's brother!  So, never having children was license to beat the crap out
of them and humiliate them. But the poor guy never had any kids so we were
to be understanding and free with our tolerance and forgiveness. I truly do
not think three to ten year olds grasped that concept, nor did I for that
matter.

...So, there I was out in the desert by Lake Mead.  Hungry, healing from
the latest bruises inflicted by Mr. Wonderful, and homeless with only the
clothes on my back wondering, "Where do I go or what do I do now?"  I was
not too concerned about my family sending out a search party. My so-called
step-father would be reveling in the fact he was rid of bad rubbish.  I
could be wrong.  Maybe he will miss his punching bag!  My mother had always
said, "If any of you decide to leave don't expect me to come looking for
you," and she adamantly added, "You don't ever have to bother coming back".
Besides, she was under the spell of Mr. Wonderful and if she had possessed
balls, she would have drug them through ten miles of broken glass for that
asshole.

Though I was concerned about my brothers and sisters, I felt helpless to do
anything. He never seemed to bother them too much as far as hurting them
physically. (It's sad when you equate abuse in degrees as to whether it is
acceptable or tolerable in its frequency). I was his main target; his
whipping boy. In fact, I thought maybe they'd be better off with out me
around. I thought maybe I was the problem.

...At that moment I was more concerned about my survival. Though feeling
very lightheaded and dizzy and in some pain, I managed to sluggishly and
slowly plod my way to the campgrounds at Lake Mead National Recreation
Area. I wandered around the campgrounds, stomach aching and feeling like I
might pass out again.  Driven by hunger, I eventually built up enough
courage to steal a few items of food and a blanket from campers who were
away from their sites. I never took more than I needed.  I managed to get
along for quite some time pilfering food.  Fortunately, no one seemed to
take note of this scrawny kid roaming around the campgrounds.  It was
tourist seasons so I blended in.  If a Park Ranger did happen along, I just
turned into one of the campsites as if that was where I was camped, thus
alluding any suspicion they might have had.  The Lake became my bathtub,
laundry facility and recreation area. There were, also, many restrooms
about the campgrounds and so my basic needs were met.

As I stated I was 15 years old but I looked as if I was 12. I weighed about
85 lbs. dripping wet and was about 5' 7" tall. I have what is referred to
as dishwater blonde hair (I prefer ash blonde) cut military style, in other
words practically bald, and have dark brown eyes. I had always been a quiet
kid; a loner. I was not unfriendly but never have had many friends my age.
I had always gotten along with adults and felt more comfortable being
around them for some reason. I loved to read.  I was considered bright and
easy going--not a problem child. Hell, I was too afraid to be a child--let
alone a problem one--as my mother was just as physically abusive as the men
she chose. She had a fatal attraction for sickos. They beat on her and made
her life miserable. So because of her shortcoming she beat on me and my
life was miserable. Like I was the culprit. She confided in me at one time
that she knew she was rougher (gotta' love that euphemism for abuse) on me
than the other kids as she knew I could handle it. Wow!  Was that a
compliment or an acknowledgment of my usefulness?  I grasped at any form of
attention recognition or acknowledgment she bestowed on me.  Yeah, gullible
of me, but I desperately wanted her love and attention.

... Now to figure out what to do as I was not returning home.

One day while wandering aimlessly around the campgrounds I espied this
flyer posted on a bulletin board outside the little general store.  It was
about a program that found employment for high school kids.  The following
morning I decided to hitch hike, my main mode of transportation--actually
my only mode other than hoofing--into Las Vegas and check it out.  Once I
found the place I enquired as to what I needed to do.  I was given some
forms to fill out and was directed to take a seat and wait for an
interviewer.  I complied and filled out the necessary forms.  I then waited
for what seemed like hours.  Eventually, this very nice lady called me in
to her office.  I was more nervous than a long tailed cat in a room full of
rocking chairs but she was very kind and I began not to feel so uneasy. I
was clean and all, but I had been wearing the same clothes for a while, and
believe it or not I think I lost a few pounds. She asked me a few questions
about myself and previous job experiences.  I believe I satisfactorily
answered her inquiries.  I did tell her a few white lies about my family
and where I lived. She then informed that me my parents would have to sign
a form giving me permission to be part of the program.  After a few moments
of feeling disappointed and utter terror, I did some quick thinking and
assured her I would be back later with the signed form ready to go to work.
I do think I impressed her with my eagerness.

Though being devious wasn't my nature, I was desperate. My mother has a
very distinct signature so I forged it. Okay, so now I was a criminal. I
waited a while--it had to be realistic for god's sake--returned and handed
over my signed paperwork.  I anxiously waited for them to tell me where I'd
be working.  This was a government agency, however, and wheels did not turn
as fast as this 15 year old thought they should. I was informed they would
notify me by mail in a few days with some places that had openings.  Mail
me!  Shit, now what was I going to do?  I lived with my sole possession of
a stolen blanket under two eucalyptus trees near campsite B-1 in a national
park some forty or fifty miles from Vegas.  I must have looked really down
as the same lady that interviewed me started to console me and asked,
"Steven, do you have any idea where you would like to work for the summer?"
I replied, "I think I'd like to work out at the Lake." If ever I thought
there was a god, it was about two seconds later when she pulled out an
index card and said, "Well, you know young man, it just so happens there is
an opening at Lake Mead for a grounds keeper's helper. Do you think you'd
like doing that?" If she would have asked me to masticate turtle turds to
make fertilizer I would have said yes.  She said, giving me an index card,
"Here is the information as to whom and where you are to report. Ask for a
Mr. Lynne. Now make sure you have this card. Don't lose it," she
admonished.  She stood and offered me her hand, and told me to report in
two days and with a smile said encouragingly, "I think you will do just
fine."  And wished me good luck.  I was so overjoyed with my good fortune I
hastened my return to the Lake.

Obviously being prompt for my first day to report was no problem. I
continued to raid campsites for sustenance alleviating my guilt by knowing
I would soon be a bona fide employee. The two-day wait was excruciating and
seemed to take an eternity to arrive. But arrive it did and I reported
promptly to Mr. Lynne on the assigned day. He took one look at me and
realized that working as a grounds keeper's helper wasn't something I would
probably be able to physically handle. "Maybe once you put some meat on
your bones," he somewhat jokingly stated.  They used these large pick
axes. Hell, if I could have even gotten one above my shoulders I would have
probably fallen over backwards from the weight once in that position. Did I
mention I was slender and of light weight?  The gods weren't looking too
wonderful to me now. But wait...they did have an opening for someone to
assist in cleaning the campground restrooms, did I think I would like doing
that? Would I?  Hell, I was so elated I was ready to go round up turtles!
I was one happy camper--no pun intended.

My tasks actually were quite varied; from cleaning the restrooms, my main
assignment; garbage collecting; occasionally, grounds keeping, (I got to do
the raking and putting the clippings in the garbage cans. No pick axes!).
Every once in a while I worked with George, the mechanic, who took care of
the maintenance on the patrol boats used by the Park Rangers.

It was while working in the boat yard I learned my first lessons about the
wonderful affects vibration has in the groin area. I usually was assigned
to sand the bottom of the boats as I could more comfortably fit underneath
than George.  Since I didn't weigh very much I really had to put my entire
body weight behind me to effectively get the crud off the boat's hull. Of
course, that meant placing this super-charged sander in my crotch area and
pushing for all I was worth. Oh, what a sensation! I got a fucking boner so
fast; god, it felt good.  I swear the first time I was sanding I thought I
was going to blow a load when all of a sudden I got this burning pain. I
went to the toilet and saw not only was I sanding the boat, I abraded the
skin off my penis because of the friction on the material from my
underwear.  After healing I did try different variations as this was a neat
little tool. Let me tell you it was difficult to inconspicuously use this
sander and take advantage of its other stimulating uses with ones tool
hanging out!

After having worked at the Lake for about two months, I eventually had to
confide my situation to Sam, the guy I worked with the most cleaning the
restrooms. He was curious as to how I managed to get to and from Las Vegas
everyday as obviously I was not old enough to drive. "Do one of your
parents drive you here and pick you up everyday," he enquired?" I told him
I was crashing in the campgrounds at night and why. Sam was a neat guy. He
was in his mid-40's and had an easy going sweet gruffness about him. He
constantly had a wad of Beechnut chewing tobacco in his cheek and talked
like--well, as though he had a wad of tobacco in his mouth. His personal
vehicles, plus the van we used for work sported this brown flame-like
pattern splattered on the door from his having to spit so often. Guess who
got to clean off the van door? In one of my I want to belong/I am a man
moments I decided to try chewing tobacco. I immediately learned one should
never, never, swallow while a wad of Beechnut was in ones mouth. I think I
turned every imaginable shade of green when I made that small mistake, much
to the amusement of Sam and my co-workers.  I actually did, for a time,
take up chewing tobacco.  Talk about a ridiculous sight; a kid who barely
looked 13 years old, chawing away on wad of tobacco and spitting every 10
seconds or so.  As I was emulating Sam, I do think he got a kick out of it.

Sam had befriended me and we did pal around a lot together.  We spent a lot
of time ogling and making crude comments about the women we saw as we made
our rounds cleaning the campground toilets. I personally didn't see all the
need for all this hoopalahing and fuss for big tits and stuff, but that's
what men do. What an act.  Like a bunch of peacocks strutting their stuff
and splaying their feathers.  You'd think every women alive was just
waiting for the opportunity to jump our bones. Hell, I probably couldn't
have run fast enough--and not towards-- if a woman even seemed remotely
interested in my striking yet slender body.

Unbeknownst to me, Sam talked with the head supervisor, Mr. Lynne, about my
situation and though it was against policy, they moved a light couch into
one of the warehouses.  Though they did inform the Park Rangers of my
tenancy, I was cautioned to keep a low profile, which I readily agreed to
do.  I immediately began setting up house. I spent almost the entire night
cleaning and sweeping my new digs.  Though it was a struggle, I managed to
hollow out a place from a mountain of cartons containing toilet paper for
my closet.  My possessions now included a little hot plate that sat on top
of a fifty five gallon barrel of Pine Sol concentrate, a small sauce pan,
eating utensils, a bowl and plate.  For entertainment, Sam gave me an AM-FM
radio.  Others I worked with donated bedding and other linens.  All I
lacked to set the mood I felt was one of those embroidered pillows with
"Home Sweet Home."  The Andersons, a very nice elderly couple, owned a
little general store by the Lake.  They gave me a charge account so could I
charge hot dogs and such fare between paychecks.

I was free.  I had people who genuinely cared about and for me. I was
supporting myself.  And... I had those very spacious living quarters.  This
time in my life became one of the happiest.

There was a small community of government workers who lived at the Lake in
a small housing development set back off the main road.  It was barely
visible to passers by.  All the homes were constructed with cinder block
and painted the ever-popular institutional government puke green.  There
were about 10 homes altogether, scattered over a couple of desert
acres. The people there took me under their wings. Never once was my
situation brought up or even alluded to. They treated me much like a young
adult and were continually inviting me to dinner that was of course, if I
was not too busy. They always marveled at the copious amounts of food I
could stuff in this slender frame of mine. Sometimes I thought they just
invited me to watch me eat. Even I knew, however, it was because they were
making sure I got some substantial food other than hotdogs and beans. Also,
if I was not too busy, perhaps I'd like to stop by and watch TV or play
cards.

George, who headed the boat yard facility (and possessed that marvelous
sander) invited me to join their small square dance group. Fred Astaire I
was not nor Ginger. I had all the grace and beauty of a wounded buffalo on
roller skates. For all my slenderness--coordination and agility were not
among my attributes-- but it didn't seem to matter. What mattered was that
we were having fun. They didn't seem to mind that I dos-ee-do-ed, when I
should have been promenading home. Now for a kid who never was in any sort
of limelight and to whom mistakes were akin to mortal sins, this was--well,
to be honest--it sometimes felt really, really uncomfortable. Unreal.  It
was a foreign experience for me. (I kept waiting for the humiliating remark
and/or crack across the head.)  It was, however, what I wanted so much. To
belong; to feel a part of; to matter. I was not accustomed to people being
concerned about my well-being let alone my opinions or thoughts about
anything. It took me a while before I adjusted to this newfound community.
Caring, loving and acceptance do grow on you after a while.

Tobacco chewing Sam and his wife Faye, took a very special interest in me
and my well-being. They invited me to movies; to visit their friends and
relatives; took me out to restaurants and; involved me in many of their
family activities.  Sam even took the time to teach me how to drive. I
guess if I had an inkling as to what a family was or how it should
function, this was pretty close to what I would have imagined. I worked
with Sam for most of my time there and we had become good friends. Despite
all of our sex talk, Sam was very happily married.  Sam and Faye had a
daughter my age named Cathy. I sort of fell in love with her, or being
fifteen, perhaps in lust.  Of course, I regarded Sam and Faye too much to
act on these lustful desires.  I don't even know if I would/could have
approached Cathy, as when it came to relationships I was clueless. Not that
I hadn't had girlfriends before, mind you....but they were going to the
movies and neighborhood garage dance relationships, more like good friends
with the title of boy and girlfriend.  I might add, any girls I went with
always initiated the contacts.  Otherwise I would never have had a date!
My regard for Sam and Faye and my fear to approach Cathy however, did not
mitigate my feelings for Cathy.  She had become unbeknownst to her, my
secret attraction.

Of the small group of workers, Jim was one of the `garbologists' with whom
I worked on occasion.  Jim was a nice enough guy, but he and his wife both
drank quite a bit and I did have an aversion to drinkers. I didn't trust
them any farther than I could throw a 747 jet. However, Jim and Glenna, for
the most part were friendly, amiable drunks.  They had a 10 year old
daughter, Peggy and a son named Val who just so happened to have a thing
for my Cathy. I had become a tad jealous as Val was a very good-looking
kid.

I had as a result of some very good meals and a swimming regimen I did
daily with the lifeguards prior to their going on shift gained weight and
had become a less emaciated person of 115 lbs.  Also, as a result of this
exercise, I had developed a broader chest to boot.  I still was not the
pick of the litter in the looks department. At least that's the perception
I had of myself after being reminded over the years how scrawny, ugly and
skinny I was.  Val, this buttinsky into my unbeknownst to the other party
attraction brought about a macho-ism that believe me was purely fake
bravado. I couldn't have beaten my way out of bowl of jell-o, and besides,
I hated violence.  The fact that Val was just one of those very nice and
friendly sort of guys didn't make my dislike for him any easier.

One evening Val's parents invited me to dinner.  That was, of course, if I
was not too busy.  I accepted: One, as I wanted to confront this woman
stealer and Two, because I was a voracious eater!  To describe Val; he was
15 years old and stood 5' 5" tall; weighed 125 lbs. had dark wavy brunette
hair, dark brown eyes and as I was to come to know a--great body.  As I
mentioned, I was there to show this young upstart just with whom he was
dealing when you stole my unbeknownst to the other party attraction.  But
young Mr. V. I discovered was very, very hard to dislike.  He was just too
damn affable. Plodding on, however, with my agenda, I noticed he had a set
of weights on his patio.  With all my he-man confidence, and puffing out my
newly developed pecs, I ever so casually enquired, "Hey, Val, how much can
you lift?"  Affecting an attitude that I could press a ton and did so on a
daily basis.  He, shrugging his shoulders, replied as though no one had
ever asked him before, "Oh, I dunno, `bout 225 lbs."  Now I had never
lifted weights in my entire life but carried on with my machismo as he
asked, "How much can you lift?"  Having nary a clue, I incoherently mumbled
and proffered some number.  Now he wasn't suppose to actually ask me to
lift anything, but he hadn't read my script. He invited me to work out with
him--RIGHT THEN--not at some later date--but THEN!  What could I do except
acquiesce and make a total fool of myself.  As I said, Val was short and
weighed 125 lbs. He casually went over to the barbell with the weights and
jerked it up over his head with one arm. I counted the weight and it was
125 lbs. Well, so much for my giving him his comeuppance.  I weighed about
115 lbs. and on a good day could probably only lift maybe 35 lbs. above my
head.  My lack of Herculean strength didn't seem to phase Val.  At my
dreaded turn, he just lowered the weights and then encouraged me to keep
pushing as I grunted and struggled to lift them.  He was clueless as to my
agenda for him.  Damn he was being too nice.

Val lived about two miles from my lavish digs.  Both his parents were a tad
too tipsy to drive and it was pretty late.  The road to the housing area
was only two lanes, and was often traveled at high speeds and sometimes by
those who have had a few cocktails too many.  Val's not too sober parents
were, however, cognizant enough of the dangers and discouraged my walking
home.  Val was quick to agree with his parent and somewhat excitedly says,
"Yeah, Steven, I think you should spend the night here.  Dad can take ya'
to work in the morning."  "Can't ya' Dad?"  Jim slurringly responded, "Sure
no problem."  So I spent the night with my now, not so mortal enemy.

Val, slept on the couch and I just beside it. We started conversing on the
usual guy stuff--girls, sports, animals, more girls, sex. Which lead in
time to comparing equipment. Yea!  Uuuh, I mean, oh dear!  I finally out
did him in something. It's the little things--well in this case the bigger
thing. Hard I was a good six and half inches in length and my girth, well
lets just say it would not fit in that cardboard core of a toilet paper
role.  Don't ask how or why I knew that!  One positive aspect of being
slender, it also makes ones appendage appear bigger.  Expressing how horny
he was, especially, after thinking about all those big boobs and tight
pussies, which we descriptively elaborated upon, we proceeded to jack off
together. He while describing some big-titted voluptuous broad and what
he'd like to do to her.  I while mesmerized by his beautifully smooth
sculpted hairless body and cock; desperately trying to conjure up a way to
just accidentally touch his cute dick.  I thought about using the line,
"Hey, hold on a minute, I think ya' got a piece of lint on your..."  I then
decided against that approach.  Cathy? Cathy who?

I must tell you that I didn't know what Gay was. I had heard the word
homosexual and knew that queer, pansy, fag and fruit were some of the
sobriquets used to describe homosexuals.  From the connotations I
understood those words--I definitely was not one of those people.  To be
quite frank, I never even thought anything negative or positive of what I
was doing or had done previously.  It just never occurred to even question
these activities.  Val was not the first boy I had had thoughts about or
the first with whom I've jerked off.  Sex with another boy just was not
something you discussed with anyone.  Girls however, were a different
matter.  We bragged about the tit we saw or the one we felt.  We described
our sexual fantasies while ogling over an edition of a National Geographic
with its photos of naked Nubian women or the latest Playboy borrowed from
an older brother or dad's stash.  What the hey, sexual conversations were
like fish stories, ever so slightly embellished to titillate the listener
with one's vast sexual exploits and experiences.  Even at that age I found
other boys' sexual braggadocio humorous.  As I knew most of it was pure
bull.  And not to embark on my prior titillating sexual experiences; up to
that point in time 99% had been strictly mutual jack-off encounters.

And as to Love, putting sex aside for a moment, well, once again, I
probably would have never admitted to having that feeling for a boy. Not
because it was wrong, but because I didn't know that's what it was.
Unbeknownst.  Also, it was not what one boy feels for another boy.  Is it?

As my relationship continued with Val, I really had no explanation for why
I felt the way I did for him.  Heck, I didn't have a clue as to my feelings
on many levels.  Fear and guilt I pretty much had a handle on, but the
rest--unbeknownst.  I seemed to have constant thoughts about Val. There
were times when I questioned and had some confusion as to my strange
feelings and thoughts.  What was it about Val that made me want me to be
around him all the time?  Even more perplexing; why did he like being with
me?  I mean--here was this 5' 5'' 125 lb. cutie. With dark brown eyes that
could have you swooning and creaming in your pants. He definitely didn't
lack for female companionship. I mean what fool would pass up this guy who
had a great fun-loving personality and such a beautiful body.  I don't
think there was an ounce of fat on him. At least I hadn't found any in my
explorations of it.  He could bench press close to 310 lbs and I don't
think there was a sport at which he didn't excel with maybe the exception
of track, even though he was no slouch there either. Scholastically I'd say
he was about average. He'd rather have been out tossing a football than
learning how to conjugate verbs.  Because he was very good athletically, he
could be a little cocky at times, especially when the older and bigger guys
looked at him and viewed him as this little twerp. Val just relished in his
abilities to out do them, and flaunt it in their stunned faces as he out
maneuvered and/or over powered them.  He also had a boyish mischievousness,
much to the consternation of one being the victim of one of his pranks. He
loved to tease. Every once in a while he'd get me going on something and
then you'd see this little smirk start to form and you knew you were being
taken in. Then he would laugh, "I got ya' again," he chortled. I loved that
laugh.

In the time I had known Val I had only ever seen him get angry twice.  He'd
get mad about stuff, but I mean anger that drove him to physically accost
some one. One incidence was at a school dance.  Some guy who was about 6'
tall and probably weighed at least 185 lbs. was harassing Val's date. You
know the type: The jerk who says, "What are you doing with that runt; when
you could be with a real man?" Val asked him to back off but this guy kept
badgering and threateningly asked Val, "What are ya' gonna' do about it
runt?"  Like a bolt of lightening, Val hauled off and belted the guy in the
gut and when he bent over gasping from the blow, he then slugged him in the
jaw. The guy dropped like a stone.  Friends' of Val grabbed him because
they knew in this state of anger he could really hurt the now fallen jerk.
Surprisingly to some; Val and his six-foot assailant became friends down
the line.  No surprise to me, that was Val; he was just really hard to
dislike.

The other occasion was more or less because of me. We were playing football
with a group of guys and this one player who was built like a college
fullback was really being unnecessarily rough.  Also, as I was awkward and
uncoordinated he kept making fun of me and calling me names.  I was fast
however, and I was told to run out for a pass. To get to the place of
reception I had out maneuvered this blowhard, stopped and waited for the
pass.  Unexpectedly, he plowed into me with great force, nailing me to the
ground and knocking the wind out of me. He then got up and laughed.  Val,
like a raging bull, came barreling down the field; grabbed this guy; jacked
him up against the goal post so hard I thought the damn thing was going to
topple over. He looked into the guys eyes with such anger and hatred, and
told him if he ever laid another unwarranted hand on me or opened his big
mouth one more time he'd rip him a new asshole.  Again, friends were there
to pull Val off.  He then ran over to me with a very concerned look and
asked if I was okay.  Helping me and up brushing off the dirt and grass he
took me over to the sideline and told me to rest for a few minutes.  All
the time he was apologizing and telling me how sorry he was and cussing out
the oaf.  My hero.

Val was very easy going the majority of the time however.  Nothing really
ruffled his feathers too much.  For the most part he'd slough most stuff
off with, "What an asshole!" He would tease me once in a while about my
awkwardness and would call me a real klutz.  But it usually came at the end
of one of his embellished play-by-play commentaries leading up to just
before I dropped the ball or tripped over myself. Followed by, "I think ya'
did real good today."  Never mean spirited.  I knew he was sensitive to the
fact that I knew I was a klutz and was reluctant to participate.

Val and I continued to get together on pretty much a daily basis for our
jack off sessions. We, after some time elapsed in each other's company,
graduated to actually jacking each other off. Val was not super hung but I
didn't care. His slender five inches was fine by me.  I just loved wrapping
my hand around his stiff arced cock and getting him off. He was always
fascinated and making comments about my size.  Since we had graduated to
giving each other a hand we even did a little body rubbing--no real
vigorous groping.  Kinda' awkward body massaging.  Touching Val sent
electrifying pulses through my entire body. His body was smooth and
hairless except in the nether region where he sported a small course patch
of jet-black pubic hair about the base of his cock. He was as solid as a
brick and his muscles--though not bulging like Arnold Schwarzenegger, thank
god--were very well developed and defined. And what a cute butt; small,
smooth and firm. I often would lay my head on his ripped stomach while
jacking him off and playing with his balls or rubbing between his legs and
his butt cheeks.  I became deeply aroused and just loved watching him
climax. He in turn with the fascination of my size liked to get me off too,
and willingly lent a hand in that endeavor.  What sluts we had become!

Val and I hung out together much of our free time. We played pool on the
dilapidated table at the clubhouse of his trailer park. As we were only a
stones throw from the Lake we went swimming frequently.  We liked to swim
out to the diving raft some fifty or so yards from the shore, where we
discovered a hollowed out area under the raft where we could surface
beneath and harass the sunbathers above by rocking the raft.  Oh, and we
could fondle one another unnoticed too!  We shared ideas and talked about
cars and other important things going on in our young lives. Many times
when we hiked in the desert, or just sat on his patio, we discussed our
plans for the future: What we'd like to do or become; how many kids we'd
like to have; where we would like to live; whether we'd like or planned to
go to college.  Many of these discussions were quite serious; some were
somewhat fantasy--a proclivity of youth.  Sometimes we just leisurely sat
around discussing our friendship and our enjoyment of it and what it meant
to each other.

As stated previously, I had never been particularly good at sports. I liked
to participate, but lacked agility and coordination to do well.  In school
I was the kid when it came to choosing up sides kids would say, "Will give
ya' quarter if ya'; take Steven."  Val never once discouraged me.  He would
spend time with me showing me and coaching me as to the correct way to do
something.  Once in awhile if we went to the field to play a team sport, he
always picked me first, knowing full well I was lousy.  I was growing
increasingly fonder of him.

We also had are own little secret hideaway we went to for our sexual
encounters. It was a little camping trailer stored, along with many others,
in an area by his trailer park. We happened upon it one day quite by
accident, and as the door was unlocked.  Well...  It had become our place
for our trysts.  It was in this little trailer, after much agonizing and
fretting as to whether I should or shouldn't, that I finally built up the
courage to ask Val if I could suck his dick. Sucking dick up to that time,
was not something I particular relished.  When I was around 12 years old, I
was molested for some time by this old guy.  He would force me play with
him and to suck him.  One time he held my head tight and wouldn't let me
move.  He came in my mouth.  The taste was disgusting--I threw up all over
him.  With my peers there was this tacit agreement that if I do it to
you/you do it to me.  Basically it was putting ones mouth over each other's
dicks for a nanosecond but no real sucking took place.  I really didn't
know if Val would be grossed out for my asking.  There was even a little
fear he might slug me and walk out.  Those thoughts almost kept me from
asking, but lust and desire won out.  He didn't appear to be disgusted and,
thank god, didn't walk out.  Instead he replied, "Do you want to?"  I
countered, "Well, do you want me to?" "Well, if you want to." "Yeah, but do
you want me to?"  We went round and round with "do you want/do you want me
to?" for I don't know how long. He didn't want me to do something I might
not want to do, and I didn't want him to do something he might not want
done.  Val finally said, "Okay," and sheepishly added, "I don't think I can
do it to you though." I responded, "That's okay, I don't care." And I
didn't.  I nervously put my mouth on his cock and began to lick around his
cock head; furtively stealing glances at Val to make sure he was okay.  I
began to run my tongue up and down his rigid staff, tasting the saltiness
from his perspiring.  His breathing became more labored. As I wrapped my
lips around his now pulsing cock I started to go farther down; he began to
tense an audibly moaned.  I could take him comfortably all the way in my
mouth without gagging.  It was a strange sensation for me.  Weird.  But
this was Val--Val's dick.  I felt his cock head starting to expand and his
dick to swell.  He gaspingly warns me, "Oh, god, Steven... I'm, I'm...
I'm, I"mmmm aaaah ready to shoot."  I sucked up to the very last second
then quickly pulled away and jacked him the rest of the way off.  His cum
splattered on my cheek.  I was satisfied. I was pleased he enjoyed it.  He
was so special.  He was still holding me and caressing me and continued to
jack me off--that was enough. You see, I would have drug my balls through
ten miles of broken glass to jack-off in Val's shadow. I could have been
happy there with Val for the rest of my life.

Though Val went out on dates frequently, he still made plenty of time for
me.  He had on several occasions asked me to go on double dates. (Which up
to that point I had avoided.)  On date nights, usually a Friday, while my
unbeknownst to me secret attraction was out attempting to or actually
bopping a coed, I would wile and fret away my time anxiously waiting for
his return. If he didn't appear as was scheduled or when I thought he
should, I cared not if there were a million drunken speeding drivers
careening down the two-lane road.  I hiked the two miles and waited at his
place.  On a few occasions I had sat up all night and cried because he
didn't show.  Did I think this was abnormal?  No!

It came to a point when I never did anything without considering Val in the
equation.  I could not think of not having Val in my life.  The thought
that he would ever have a full-time girlfriend--well, I tried not to think
of that--scared me some. Though I didn't think that it would change what we
meant to one another and did together.  Val had become my sole focus.

 Was this Love?  It was unbeknownst to me.  It wasn't until years later I
realized that when you had never really experienced a loving relationship,
familial or otherwise, you sort of came to or invented a definition on your
own. Mine was somewhat simple and to some, maybe even base, but it was the
best I could come up with/create/devise from my frame of reference or
experience at that juncture of my life.  Whatever one wanted to label what
I was experiencing; I did it with my whole heart and soul.  I was happy.  I
was content.  I was someone to somebody.

As I said, Val had frequently suggested we go on a double date. "Come on,
Steven, it'll be fun," he cajolingly stated. "You're my best friend, com'
on."  Now I was by this time close to 17 years old, a runaway and high
school dropout.  The roster of girls I knew was pitifully slim.  And of
course, Cathy the erst unbeknownst to the other party attraction had long
been forgotten in the wake of Val.  And she currently had a boyfriend.

I have been a loner for much of my life and rarely interacted with my
peers.  Since I was nine years old, and as my mother worked, I became the
babysitter, shopper, dishwasher, launderer, ironer, house cleaner and cook.
So my responsibilities at home were many.  I also worked two hours in the
morning before school and two hours in the evening after school.  Oh, and
on weekends for a few hours too.  Opportunities to socialize were scant.
Frankly, social situations involving more than two people scared the piss
out of me.  I felt awkward.  I was the kid who sat quietly within the group
acting interested and attentive.  I interjected, when required and
appropriate, the obligatory laughter, "ooh's/aah's and yucks!"  Often
social situations required my having to explain the latest in a long line
of bruises or sprained...pick a body part. Granted--in my era of growing up
there was a belief in the old adage, "spare the rod; spoil the child." Few,
however, in the environs in which I grew up had a modified broom handle
taken to them at ten to...who knows how many whacks... for the unforgivable
transgression of spilling their milk at the dinner table.  Also, one never
discussed the abuse.  Ya' just didn't. That would bring on more wrath if
found that family business was discussed beyond its walls. I also, would
never paint my mother as anything but a saint.  For in my blinded-eyes she
was.  I just came to believe I was a bad kid.  My explanations of, "Oh, I
fell", soon earned me the reputation of an accident looking for a place to
happen. My social skills were not very well honed, hence, I avoided social
situations. Problem solved. But I digress...

But this was Val asking me. Hell, by this time he was all but begging to go
on a double-date.  I finally gave in and gathered up the nerve to ask
Cheryl the sister of another friend, Bobby, who lived in the government
complex to go out with me.  After much hem-hawing and awkward attempts at
trying to ask Cheryl out: "Uh, I was wondering...Well, ya' see Cheryl, uh,
there's this ball game on Friday, and...Well, uh, I know I'm not the best
lookin' guy around...Anyway, I was, uh, wondering...Now, don't worry you
won't hurt my feelings if you say, no...But I was wondering...I mean if
you're not doing anything else... Uh, I mean if you're busy or doing
something else I'd understand...It's okay if you say no...But, uh, I was
wondering if, uh, you'd like to go out with me on Friday?"  Phew!  How
pathetic!  Cheryl was a very nice and cute girl and could have been in my
cast to be an unbeknownst to the other party attraction had I not met
Val. We had always been on friendly terms but I never sensed any indication
she would be interested in me (and of course, I was so wrapped up with Val,
I didn't pay much attention to whether anyone else held an interest in me
or not). To my surprise, and I must say, my relief, she accepted to go out
with me.

I have no idea what transpired but it seems everyone in the complex had
suddenly found out about Steven's upcoming date. This became an event for
these people. I was inundated with advice on how to behave; how to act;
what to say. Jeesh! Ya' woulda' thought I was raised by a pack of wolves!
My mother may or may not have been many things, but the one thing she
instilled and inculcated to us kids was politeness, courtesy and good
manners.  I certainly knew how to behave.  I may have felt uncomfortable in
social situations, but I wasn't a social pariah for god's sake!  I took all
this attention in good stride, however.  Their intentions were well meant.

Now that we got me all filled in on the social graces, it was discovered
sartorially I was greatly lacking. "Ya' need to get a pair of dress
trousers." "Ya' need a hair cut." "Ya' need to get a long sleeve shirt."
(Long-sleeved shirt? It's 110 degrees for god's sake!)  "Oh, and you'll
need some nicer shoes."  My occasions to dress up, well actually, to this
point I couldn't think of anything that would have required me to wear
anything but Levis or shorts and a T-shirt.  Well, of course this had to be
remedied. My lack of funds didn't seem to enter into this equation. I was
making a whopping $40 dollars a week. A dressy wardrobe was not at the top
of my list of necessities. Most of the clothing I had--of which little
would now fit--was at my mother's. Even for Val, I couldn't bring myself to
go there. Not yet.

Now there were, other than myself, only three other boys in the immediate
area. One was ten years old, the other my friend Bobby, who was shorter and
stockier than I, and of course, Val. I was tall and lanky. So there wasn't
a big clothing pool from which to select in that group. Did that deter this
bunch? Not on your life. They managed an ensemble that would have had
Versace roll over and moan in his grave. I felt their love and
caring. Embarrassed as I was with their fashion statement, that I could not
ignore.

On the day of the date, Bobby and Cheryl's dad, Pete, decided I really did
need a haircut and offered his services. Since it was his daughter I was
escorting on this date I agreed to allow him to use his tonsorial skills on
my ash blond locks.  Along with snipping my ear--well, it would be kind to
say a chain saw would have produced a better do. I wanted to call the whole
thing off. I looked like a dork. I was really embarrassed but I was way too
far into this thing to cancel now.  Also, Val would have been really
disappointed as he was so looking forward to my going on this date, plus a
passel of people at the complex.  One need not seek the validity of the
botched haircut from others. They had this "Oh, shit. What lawnmower did
you get in the path of?" expression. They, of course softened it with, "Oh,
it's not so bad.  ("Oh, no, it's not so bad, it's atrocious!"). It'll grow
out.  ("Yeah, but not by 5:00 tonight!")  My well-meaning fashion gurus put
their collective heads together--as though I was not present--and they
decided a baseball cap would remedy the problem. Personally, I was
picturing an Arabian burqa!

The hour had arrived for Pete--the wanna be barber-- to drive us to our
destination in Boulder City for the date.  Here was this 5' 9", 115 lb
skinny kid wearing a pair of light brown corduroy trousers, a tad larger
than the frame they were meant to be upon; cuffs rolled up; a belt when
cinched, causing the pants to gather at the waist--the surround pleated
look; a long-sleeved black and white checkered flannel shirt a few sizes
too large; white socks and my recently laundered Ked Red Ball sneakers. Oh,
and the crowning glory--a baseball cap.

Plenty of kudos by all as to our appearances and what cute couples we made
were expressed, and wishes to have a great time.  ("Oh, yeah, I'll be the
envy of everyone!")  I wanted to die. I was not worried about being
socially adept or inept at this point. I just wanted the night to be over.
Val, I'm gonna' kill ya'!

In all my splendor we piled into Pete's station wagon and headed for the
ball field in Boulder City.  Val, his date, nor Cheryl made nary a comment
as to my appearance. I would have at the next opportunity bitten Val's dick
if HE had said anything. Pete dropped us off and arranged a time and place
to pick us up. ("Is about 20 seconds from now too soon?") We watched a
local triple A baseball game and afterwards--as prearranged--went to a
small café for dinner. I nixed a hamburger joint earlier with Val.  "I'm
not taking my date to any hamburger joint", I adamantly protested to
Val. "That's just not acceptable."  I insisted on a sit-down dinner.  "I
don't know why we have to go to a diner. Everybody likes Jimmie's," Val
whiningly countered.  Jimmie's was a local drive-in hamburger joint.  It
appeared to me Val could have benefited from a consultation with my
fashion/social advisors on the proper way to treat a lady!  I wasn't about
to give in. I had saved five hard earned bucks for this date, and Sam had
palmed off another $5 before I got into the car.  Val capitulated, though
reluctantly, to my demand.

I was the perfect gentleman. I opened the car door and other doors; pulled
the chair out for Cheryl; inquired what she would like so I could relay her
order to the waitress. We submitted our orders and I became a tad miffed as
my date, Cheryl for whom I scrimped and saved ordered a hamburger (which of
course got me this smug look from Val--I may bite him anyway!). Well, I was
beside myself. A hamburger!  Val and his date along with me ordered
full-course dinners.  A hamburger, jeesh!  I thought perhaps she was
concerned about my financial situation and was just trying to be
considerate.  I tried, unconvincingly and discreetly to let her know that
if she wanted a full-course dinner it was no hardship on my part.  A
hamburger it was.  I had ordered pork-chops, mashed potatoes and gravy and
the meal came with soup and salad.

I was the epitome of good manners; napkin on lap; elbows off the table;
sitting up straight; not talking with food in my mouth; cutting my meat a
piece at a time and placing the then used knife on the back edge of my
dinner plate between cuts. Participating socially by doing the appropriate
laugh, "oohs/aahs and yucks!"  Oh, though with some reluctance, removed my
baseball cap.  Despite my sartorial get-up the evening was going
splendidly.  As I was about to cut another piece of my pork chop while
answering a question, I had failed to notice that my plate had crept close
to the edge of the table. The result being a lapful of mash potatoes and
gravy covering my crotch as the plate went clattering to the tile floor
with a resounding crash. And nary the tiniest of cracks to crawl into. I
was so grateful Val, nor anyone else laughed. I would not have needed a
crack. I would have melted away from the heat of my embarrassment.  And I
didn't know if blushing red went with any of the hodgepodge I was wearing.

After we dropped off our dates, and I apologized for the thousandth time,
Val and I snuck off to our special place.  We did eventually have a laugh
about the evening's fax paus. "You're such a klutz," He ribbed. I gently
bit his cock and said, "I'd be careful buddy. You're in a pretty
compromising situation to be calling me names." He chuckled. He held me
after our love-making, letting me know and assuring me that it was no big
deal to him. No beatings; not humiliating remarks. Just that wonderful boy
holding me.

As I was coming to the end of my tenure for employment at the Lake I had to
seriously look for and find another job. In actuality I was only supposed
to have worked there from four to six months, but with the help of
Mr. Lynne, we parlayed that into three consecutive stints. Along with other
realities, I would not be able to survive on what I made there anyway nor
continue to live in the warehouse. People on a higher echelon were
beginning to find out about it and word was I needed to find other living
accommodations.  I tried finding employment at the Lake, but there were
only three privately owned businesses there; The Anderson's store and
trailer park and the marina. Both had long standing employees and no
openings in sight.  I was not a veteran of any war--unless you counted my
family situation--so the federal government was out also. Boulder City was
a small community and akin to the Lake, most places had employees that had
been with the businesses for a long time and again no openings in sight.
My only other option was to go to Las Vegas. Not an appealing prospect. I
was sure, no, I knew, someone at the Lake would let me stay with them.
However, there would be no way I could hitch hike to and from the Lake with
any certainty that I would arrive on time at a job in Vegas. And Val. What
about Val? My gut was in knots.

I began to search the newspaper and circled jobs for which I could qualify.
Sam had already told me he'd take a day off work to drive me around once my
list was compiled.  So, list in hand on a Tuesday morning in early
September we headed for Las Vegas.  Getting a job when you're 17 and you
look 13 wasn't the easiest task I was to discover.  I could tell by their
demeanor that many potential employers doubted my veracity as to my age.
At about the fourteenth or fifteenth job on my list I got lucky.  It was
Mayfair Markets a large grocery store chain.  One of their box boys was to
be returning to college in two weeks. It was a full-time position.  I told
a few little white lies. I told them that I was going to night school so
the daytime position was perfect for my schedule. After filling out the
requisite papers they gave me the form I needed to have my mother sign for
permission to work.  She was still living in Pittman a little burgh near
Las Vegas.  I dreaded going near that place, but I had Sam with me so I
didn't think anything would happen.

Bill was not there when we arrived. What a relief. My mother was her very
stoic gracious self; friendly and the epitome of politeness.  She asked Sam
if I was behaving myself and if I was any trouble. I guess she assumed Sam
was acting in some way as a guardian.  In some way I guess he was. After
some polite chatter my mother signed the papers and said, "You know Steven,
if you want you can always come back here to live. That way you wouldn't
have to worry about rent." "Nah, mom," I replied. "I don't like Bill and he
doesn't like me and he's still drinking." (I wanted to say, "Dump that
bastard and sure I'll come back." But given the choice between Bill or me,
well, I knew I'd lose.)  "You and I both know it wouldn't be long before
I'd be in the same predicament as before. But thanks anyway." Now I have
never not done what my mother has requested of me. Never.  And she was
asking me.  My mother always put on a very strong front, but I could tell
she was taken aback with my response.  I knew I could not return. I knew if
I did it would become the same old, same old.  I had made up my mind that I
would never allow anyone to beat me again. I had also come to the
conclusion that my mother's picker was broken.  If she wanted to be with
that asshole--well, that was a choice she made, but I certainly wasn't
going to be a part of that life. Her life. When Sam and I were leaving she
again thanked Sam and told him how nice it was to have met him.  She said I
should visit more often as Tracy Ann, my baby sister, was always asking
about me and missed me. I was hoping she'd say she missed me. As we headed
back to the Lake, I cried. Cried, because I don't ever recall my mother
ever really wanting me. Cried because I felt I had disappointed her. Cried,
because in my heart of hearts I truly wanted to be with her and my brothers
and sisters. Cried, because I wanted to believe she loved me; Cried,
because she just never liked me.  Cried--because Bill won.

A couple of days later Sam and Faye and I went to Vegas for dinner. On our
return to the Lake I saw a sign on a clean appearing motel that offered
weekly and monthly rates. I asked Sam if we could stop so I could check it
out. It was old but obviously was taken care of by the owners, a nice
elderly couple. It was only a couple of miles from my new place of
employment, and the price fit within my budget.  I put a down payment for a
month's rent to begin two weeks later.  Well, I got me a job and now a new
home. I wished I could celebrate. What about Val?

Val and I spent a lot of time with one another those final two weeks. We
kept reassuring each other that we'd still get together a lot.  "Hell, we
ain't gonna' be that far away from each other," he would say. It still
would not be the same. Val was always there. I could see him every day. He
was my rock.

My co-workers threw a small party for me and gave me as going away presents
5 white shirts, 3 pairs of black pants--that fit--a black tie and
toiletries.  This was the requisite attire for my new job. Val gave me a
bottle of Brut cologne; his favorite and mine because he wore it. Again
reassurances from all that we would be seeing each other all the time as
Vegas wasn't that far away. I would miss these people.  They were just
always there with their care and concern and friendship. I had never felt
so loved and valued.

The evening before I was to move to my new Las Vegas abode, Val, as
prearranged, came by after returning from a date. He was driving his dad's
brand new yellow Chevy Impala.  It was around midnight and we drove around
for a while as he excitedly showed me all the whips and jingles of the new
car and how much pick up and maneuverability it had.  We ended up down by
the lake on a portion of the beach that was rarely occupied.  We got out of
the car and just sauntered along the beach tossing stones into the lake,
saying little to one another.  It was a beautiful night. A light breeze
blew over the lake and the stars were twinkling overhead. The only sounds
to be heard were the distinctive `plunk' each time a stone entered the
water and the moonbeam ridden waves as they gently lapped the shore. I was
sad. I was happy. I was frightened. Sad, because I will be away from Val;
happy, because right then I was with him. With this move I was afraid.
Afraid I would l lose him.

As we approached the car I headed for the passenger side and Val reached
out to grab my hand and said, "Let's sit in the back so we can stretch out
a little more."  We got in the back and went through, again, the reassuring
dialog of keeping in touch.  Val says, "Just think, when my dad trusts me
more with the car, I'll be able to come into Vegas to see you."  "Yeah,
that'll be great, and I can still hitch out here to see you too," I
responded.  Silence... I reached over and started caressing Val's firm
thigh.  I really didn't care if we did anything.  I was with the boy who
stirred so many feelings in me. Most of which I didn't understand. Most for
which I had no frame of reference.  What I did know was when I was with him
the world seemed right.  At this moment I just wanted to be near him; to
touch him; to gaze at him.  To inhale his aroma; the mixture of Brut
cologne and the muskiness of his buffed body after he'd perspired a little.
I didn't want to cry, but tears started to well up, and as one started to
fall, Val reached over and brushed it away with his thumb. "Please, ..."
And he paused.  "I don't want you to be sad.  You're not gonna' be that far
away."  He reached over and consolingly started rubbing my shoulders.  He
then slowly proceeded down my body to my crotch.  I started moving my hand
up his thigh to his groin and felt his hardness.  I began to undo his top
snap and pulled down his zipper.  I lovingly caressed his now very familiar
cock in my hand. It was such a nice fit. It was beautiful. It arced ever so
slightly inward and had the most beautifully formed head.  I reached down
to cup his balls in my hand--his smooth hairless sac that was so soft.
With my other hand I tugged at his T-shirt and he took the lead and pulled
it up over his perfectly sculpted body.  I gently rubbed my hand over his
taut ripped abdomen and his firm well defined pecs brushing his now
hardened nipples. His breathing was getting heavier and he squirmed and
shifted his body to position it more lengthwise on the seat.  I was enrapt
by his beauty; his handsomeness. I scooted back so I was in a better
position to do what I now loved doing--pleasing him.  As I went to put my
wanting lips on his cock he put his hand under my chin. There was a moment
of just our gazing into each other's eyes.  He pulled me up on his body and
he held me and I could feel his firm rock hard cock pushing against me.  He
then whispered in my ear, "Let's go to our place. There'll be more room."

We drove the car to his trailer and park.  We quietly exited the car so as
not to disturb his parents and headed for our trysting place.  Once inside
we opened the windows to alleviate the stuffiness. I went up behind Val and
put my arms around him and held him for a time.  Caressed him.  I rubbed
his shoulders and slowly ran my hands over his chest; feeling my way down
his stomach and into his shorts to get at his erect cock.  He started to
undo his pants and I breathlessly whispered for him to stop--"I want to do
it."  I undid his snap and slowly pulled down his zipper. I turned him
around and gazed into those beautiful dark brown eyes.  I lowered myself to
a sitting position on the bed pulling his pants down and I began to massage
his rock hard cock through his shorts. I removed his shoes.  I slowly slid
his shorts down then guided him to lie down on the bed. I laid down beside
him and continued massaging and touching and rubbing all over his body. I
couldn't seem to get enough of just touching him. I rubbed his inner thigh
and between his firm butt cheeks.  I gently fondled his balls and teasingly
stroked his now pulsating cock.  I started to undo my shoelaces and Val
stopped me. "Let me," he said.  Val proceeded to undress me with a boyish
awkwardness. He laid his head on my chest and rubbed my dick and balls.  He
had never been this attentive to me before.  I was ready to burst;
fireworks were going off in my groin; he was touching me as he never had
before.  I slowly rolled toward him and he lifted his head. I wrapped my
arms around him and squeezed. I, for the first time, kissed him on the
cheek and ran my hands through his dark wavy hair.  This was Heaven.

The passion built as we continued are groping, touching and rubbing.  I
could not hold back any longer.  I ran my tongue down his neck.  I used the
tip of my tongue to lap at his hard nipples.  I commenced to run my tongue
down his body lingering at the small patch of course black pubic hair and
took in the familiar odor of his crotch. I licked the head of his pulsing
cock; down his arced shaft; over his balls and perineum. Val shuddered and
arched his back. I worked my way back with my tongue and went to wrap my
lips around his enlarging cock head.  Val in a guttural voice asks, "Would
you like me to suck on you?"  Oh, god, here we go again.  "Do you want to?"
"Well, do you want me to?" "Well, if you want to." Yeah, but do you want me
to?" After a few more go a rounds with "do you want to/do you want me to?"
I finally said, "Sure".  "Are you sure your sure?"  Exasperated, I didn't
say another word. I just turned my body around and had him straddle my face
in a sixty nine-like position.  Pensively with my cock in his hand, he put
his lips over my cock and flicked with his tongue. First on just the head
and then gradually began going farther down, taking in as much as he could
without gagging. I was delirious; I was on fire. I had never been as hungry
for Val as I was at that moment. My tongue and mouth seemed to have a will
of their own. I took his cock to the hilt and twirled my tongue around
it. I was sucking on his balls. I was running my tongue over his
perineum. I rubbed my hands over his firm ass cheeks and with the tip of my
finger started probing his rectum.  Val was writhing and moaning.  He
continued to suck with more fervor.  I ran my tongue over his tight
hairless little butt hole and started probing with my tongue. I went back
to sucking his dick while massaging the outer portion of his hole with my
finger. Val suddenly gaspingly says, "I'm ready to cum...you'd better
stop." "Steven, I'm going to shoot!" "Steven, stop!" "Steee, oh my god..."
His body arched.  "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!"  His hot juices shot into my mouth. I
tasted the salty sweet mixture.  I swallowed.  At the same instance I let
go with a gushing burst that splattered against Val's chest and onto my
belly. We were covered with sweat and cum. We were exhausted. Spent. We
laid there for some time in silence wrapped in each other's arms.  We dozed
off for a while and when we awoke Val said, "We'd better get back to my
place before my dad and mom get up. I don't want them to worry." We quietly
got dressed and walked back to his place.

We sat up the remainder of the night and just chatted about nothing in
particular. When his dad awoke, Val and I said our goodbyes.  His dad drove
me back over to my now vacated home and I waited for Sam to come pick me up
to drive me to Las Vegas, to the place of new opportunities, new
experiences.  No Val.

 SEQ CHAPTER \h \r 1As Sam and I were driving to Las Vegas we said little
to one another.  I for the most part was lost in the revelry of the past
two years. I know Val, Sam and the others kept insisting that where I was
moving wasn't that far away and we would still see one another. For me that
wasn't the issue. These people had opened their arms and hearts to me. They
invited me into their lives. They encouraged, mentored, and took an active
interest in my life and well-being. They included me in their
activities. And all this was available to me on a daily basis. All this
attention, strange as it was and at times difficult to adjust, was what to
I became accustomed over time. I no longer lived in constant fear and
terror. I didn't have to worry from one day to the next if I would eat or
have a place to live. I didn't have to put up with maniacal behavior. I
didn't suffer constant abuse or humiliation.  These people became much like
an extended family, and now I was leaving home--again.

Distance wasn't my concern. Leaving this--this family--Val--that was my
concern.

Val--my wonderful Val. I had never before had a relationship with anyone
like the one we shared. It just wasn't the sex either. Yeah, I'd miss
that--a lot-- but I knew Val meant more to me than just a climax and I knew
that was true from his perspective also.  I had never had someone in my
peer group that viewed me as important--a person of value--and treated me
as such. Someone who was genuinely happy to be with me and do things with
me. Someone who sincerely enjoyed my company and companionship and actually
looked forward to seeing me. Someone who never degraded, belittled or
humiliated me when together or when with others. Someone who shared his
passions, joys, dreams, desires and sometimes sad and frustrating moments
with me.  Someone with whom I could have riotess fun or quiet moments. We
were best friends, and unbeknownst to me, my lover.

As we pulled into the parking area of my new residence, Sam turned to me
and asked, "Do you need any extra money or anything?"  "Nah, Sam, I'm fine
for now, but thanks anyway." "You have our phone number and if you ever
need anything or just want to talk, I want you to call. Okay?" "Thanks,
Sam. I will."  "And if you and Faye are in this way, I expect you to drop
by for a visit. I don't care how late it is, understand?" I
stressed. "Sure, sure," he replied.  Sam helped carry my few possessions
into my motel room; gave me a hug and reiterated my calling should I need
something.  As my dear friend pulled out of the parking lot I waved and
watched as the familiar tobacco splattered door faded out of sight.

After Sam left I sat on the edge of the bed and a great sadness overcame
me.  I sat there; just staring into space; at nothing. Thinking about
everything and nothing. I felt so alone.  Overwhelmed.  Tears welled up in
my eyes and started to trickle down my cheeks and I wished, my unbeknownst
love to me, Val, was there to wipe them away.

-The End-

Epilogue:

I never saw Val again after I left Lake Mead.  I talked with him twice on
the phone a day or two after I left.  The first call he said he had some
bad news.  He informed me we would have to find another place to meet as
the owners of our tryst came by and took the trailer. The nerve of some
people really!  I can only hope the spirit of some of our passion, lust and
love remained in that little trailer.

The second call, the next day, was even worse.  His father had been
transferred to another National Park in Colorado.  He his sister and mother
would be leaving in about two days to relocate as they wanted him and Peggy
to get registered into the new school before too much more of the fall
semester passed.  To say we were devastated would be a gross
understatement.  He was to write me once he got relocated and give me all
the pertinent information as to address and telephone numbers.  Only one
flaw: In our commiseration and shock of this sudden departure I failed to
give him my address so he could relay this information and, of course, I
had no personal phone number.  By the time I realize this they had left.

I did write to him with the information provided by his dad's co-workers
but got the letter back as Undeliverable.

Sam and Faye and I stayed in contact frequently and would meet for dinner
occasionally.  Sam died of a heart attack a few years later.  Faye and
Cindy moved back with Faye's family in the South.

...And me?  A year after leaving the Lake, I came out.  I became addicted
to drugs and alcohol and lived a somewhat tumultuous life. (Fodder for more
writings) Traveled all over mostly in a drunken stupor.  At 30 years old
got sober and have been for as of this writing 29 years.  I live in
northern California and lead a relatively quiet life.  I do have a partner,
but unfortunately, he lives in Thailand, where I soon hope to retire.

I do wish I could have stayed in touch with Val and still wonder to this
day some 40 years later what he might be doing.  I've done many web
searches but to no avail.  Wherever you are Val, the memories have not
faded and I am so grateful to have been a very small part of your life for
too a short time.  Such are the vagaries of life. They too are unbeknowst.

Comments to: agr8catch916@aol.com