Date: Sat, 02 Aug 2003 21:41:13 +0000
From: Brewster Hardy <brewsterhardy@hotmail.com>
Subject: Ballard Boys Part 2

Ballard Boys Part 2

By Brewster Hardy

     The author claims all copyrights to this story and no duplication
or publication of this story is allowed, except by the web sites to
which it has been posted, without the consent of the author.

     This story is purely a work of fiction and any resemblance to
person's living or dead, or to events that may have occurred, is purely
coincidental. Moreover, none of the actions of the characters in this
story is meant to condone, approve, or sanction their behavior.


*Chapter 5*


     "I think I love you, so what am I so afraid of..." the sound of
David Cassidy's voice coming from the kitchen radio woke him up. He
squinted at the alarm clock. 9:30 AM.

     In mid-stretch, he froze, as memories of the previous night
flashed through his mind. It seemed like some wild dream, yet he knew
it had really happened.

     It was all way too much to think about for the moment, and he
banished the images. Right now, his bladder was bursting, and he had
the piss hard-on to prove it. Lying on his stomach, he allowed himself
the fleeting gratification of grinding his hips into the mattress a
couple of times.

     Hmmm -- the bladder was winning out.

     Half-reluctantly, he turned around, swung his legs over the edge
of the bed, and forced himself to stand up. Looking down and seeing the
form of his morning erection blatantly visible through the thin cotton
of his underwear, he reached for an extra-long T-shirt and pulled it
over his head before venturing to sneak a quick look around the room
divider.

     Peering into the other half of the bedroom, he sighed with relief
when he saw the empty bed. Of course, his brother would have been up
and out at least an hour earlier.

    The younger Ballard boy made his way through the hallway, and
downstairs to the kitchen.

     "Good morning, sunshine."

     "Morning, Mom."

     Grateful that she was facing the sink, he hurried past her,
through the den and into the bathroom.

     He closed the door, reached into his tight jockeys, and grabbed
the hard cock. "Ouch," he thought to himself, as he attempted to direct
the uncooperative organ down towards the toilet. Waiting impatiently,
he willed the bladder to release itself. Finally, there was a trickle,
and then a flood.

     Only now did Ian begin to allow his mind to wander back to the
events of the previous night: the talk, the candlelight, the
electricity in the air, the thrill and the terror of the forbidden --
fuck -- Bob must think I am a total psycho freak.


*Chapter 6*


     Focus, focus, focus you asshole...Bob repeated it in his mind like
some sort of desperate mantra.

     The client had postponed yesterday afternoon's photo at the last
minute; that's why his boss had sent him home early, and that's how the
completely stupid chain of events had begun. They had rescheduled the
session for this morning, and now he was scrambling to get everything
organized.

     The main part of his summer job was straightforward and routine;
be an affable salesclerk and sell the right film, lens or camera to the
customer. Occasionally, however, his employer, Paul Roberts, would
enlist his services as an "assistant-slash-apprentice".

     Today's assignment was what the 28-year-old British photographer
categorized as a "vanity shoot". A local beauty, Jane Hardy, wanted to
submit some shots to a New York modeling agency. Despite the fact that
she was arguably the prettiest girl in high school, Bob didn't know if
she would really stand much of a chance when stacked up against the
pros, like those Vogue magazine cover girls. On the other hand, Paul
was a great photographer; who knows....

     In the meantime, Bob was rushing to make sure all the equipment
was in order.

     He had been late for work this morning. Leaving his bedroom, the
sight of his sleeping brother had stopped him in his tracks. The kid
was lying on his stomach; the sinewy legs spread wide, muscular arms
wrapped around his head, a tangle of shiny, dark hair. With sheets
reduced to a jumble of cotton at the foot of his bed, only the gleaming
white jockeys kept Ian from looking exactly like some exquisite fallen
angel.

     How long had Bob stood there, hypnotized? Too long, apparently.
Even now, in his desperate attempt to catch up, he could not rid his
mind of the picture. In the clear morning light, it had been a stunning
reminder of the previous night's recklessness. What the fuck was that
all about?

     "Bob...are we almost ready?"

     Sliding a small case of filters into the large canvas gear bag,
Bob answered, "Yup, I'll be right there."


*Chapter 7*


     By 10:30, they had been on location at the riverbank for almost an
hour. Jane had been performing well, but Paul felt he needed some fresh
inspiration. Surveying the surroundings, his gaze fell on his young
assistant.

     Bob was standing about twenty feet away, dreamy-eyed, doing his
best to be unobtrusive, with the heavy equipment bag slung over his
wide shoulders, hands gripping a tripod and an extra camera.

     "Bob...come here."

     The young man snapped out of his reverie, and shuffled nearer. Oh,
boy, he thought, I sure hope Ian is OK...

     "Why don't you put the gear down, and sit in with Jane for a
couple of shots?"

     "Huh?"

     "Yes, I think it might be fun."

     Bob looked from Paul to Jane. She smiled and shrugged. He gingerly
laid the expensive equipment on a dry area of the bank.

     Walking toward the girl, he felt a little surge of something
indefinable. For the past hour, Jane had been doing her best to project
an aura of seductiveness and glamour for Paul's camera. Now the boy
felt that essence begin to envelop him as he sat beside her on the
riverbank.

     It was almost enough to take his mind away from worrying about his
brother.

     "OK, Jane, I want you to move just behind Bob and wrap your arms
around his shoulders. Bob, just try and relax -- why don't you focus on
something on the other side of the river -- YES, that's great!"

     Click.

     Click.

     Click.

     Once again, a graphic replay of last night's events began rolling
through his thoughts.

     Hey -- was that her nipples he felt against his shoulder blades?

     "Beautiful. Bob, I'd like you to undo some of your shirt buttons -
- actually, all of them, right down to your waist - great -- now,
spread your legs apart and lean your head back against Jane - perfect -
- Jane, lean into his ear as if you're whispering to him -- yes!"

     Click.

     Click.

     Click.

     Her warm breath teased his sensitive earlobes.

     Ian had been sucking on his finger when he...

     That was definitely her hard nipples. Her breasts -- fuck -- he
felt the beginning of an erection -- goddamn...

     Click.

     Click.

     Click.

     Was she blowing in his ear?

     He's my BROTHER, for chrissake...

     OK, now his cock was reaching full hard-on status. Fuck. Not
daring to look down at his crotch, he kept his head leaning back onto
the girl's shoulder and tried to think about natural disasters, war,
traffic accidents, anything gross or unpleasant...

     Was that her tongue?

     Click.

     Click.

     Click.


*Chapter 8*


     Looking at the contact sheets in mid-afternoon, Paul was pleased.
He had been a passionate photographer since boyhood, and he felt these
shots were unusually good. The girl had something ineffable, yet
earthy.

     He turned to the next sheet, and felt the hair stand up on the
back of his neck. It was the final shots -- the shots with the kid. It
was as if Jane had become invisible. The boy, inexperienced and vaguely
uncomfortable, seemed to jump off the page. Even in these tiny images,
it was pure magic -- hot. Paul had never seen anything quite like it --
gorgeous, built, sexual, yet somehow haunted and vulnerable...

     My god, what was that? It must be a trick of the light, he laughed
to himself, the way the denim jeans looked in the crotch area -- if I
didn't know better, I'd swear he was hung like the proverbial racehorse
-- must be a trick of the light...

     He looked up, and saw Bob on the other side of the shop, doing his
day-end chores.

     "Bob."

     "Yeah?"

     "You should look at these."

     The boy came over, and quickly scanned the page. "What am I
looking for?" he asked.

     Paul paused. The kid obviously had no clue.

     "You photograph unusually well. That's a gift. Have you ever had a
serious photo session?"

     "No," he laughed, "It never crossed my mind."

     "Would you be interested in trying?"

     "Seriously?"

     "Yes."

     "Well, sure, I guess -- why not?" Bob was a little confused. "I
mean - when -- where?"

     "Are you busy this evening?"

     He was supposed to get together with Annette, but that was later.

     "Not really."

     "Why don't you come back here around seven o'clock? I'll have the
studio set up and ready. It shouldn't take more that a couple of
hours."

     Bob was not quite sure what to make of this turn of events. Oh,
well, as his Dad always said, never say never. "Sure -- sounds good..."

     "I'll finish up here. You can go on home. I'll see you at seven."

     "Right."

     Paul watched as the boy turned and went out the door. Intriguing -
- very intriguing...


*Chapter 9*


     Sitting at the head of the dinner table, Jerry Ballard felt the
air was thick with tension. There was none of the bantering or teasing
he had come to expect from his two boisterous, strapping sons. Last
night had been a little odd too, come to think of it, but tonight
seemed even worse.

     Absentmindedly scratching his black, close-cropped beard, he made
another attempt at basic communication.

     "So, Bob, how was work today"

     "It was alright..."

     End of conversation - OK -- try again...

     "Ian, what did you do all day?"

     "Not much..."

     The boys seemed to be avoiding eye contact with each other. What
the hell was going on here? He looked down the length of the table to
his wife. Trish just rolled her eyes and shrugged her shoulders.

     OK, let's try this...

     "Hey, guys, tomorrow's Saturday. Why don't the three of us go up
to Fraser Falls? We can hike for a bit, go swimming -- and give your
mother a break from all this testosterone."

     "Sure."

     "OK."

     Less than enthusiastic, but at least it was a response...

     "Sounds great to me," said Trish, smiling, "'though I'll miss
having you big hunks around, bugging me every two seconds."

     It struck Jerry that it had been too long since he and the boys
had had a proper father-and-sons session. He smiled, remembering the
time when Bob, aged twelve, was preparing for his first "grown-up" gym
class.


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


     Jerry had been out back, working in the yard, when the boy came up
to him, hands behind his back, looking somewhat sheepish.

     "Dad..."

     "Yes, Bobby..."

     "I need to ask you a question."

     "Go ahead."

     "It's kind of personal"

     Suddenly alert, Jerry did his best to remain offhand and casual.
"Yeah? Do you need my help with something?"

     "Uh-huh -- this." Bob brought his hand out from behind his back,
and presented his father with a brown paper bag.

     Jerry took the bag and, opening it, found a small box that clearly
held an athletic supporter. Suppressing a grin, he asked, "Did you buy
this yourself?"

     "Uh-huh."

     "It's for gym class, right?"

     "Uh-huh."

     "Great. So what's the problem?"

     "I don't think I'm putting it on right."

     "Why do you say that?"

     "It just doesn't feel right or something..." his young voice
trailed off in embarrassment.

     Jerry thought for a second, and then said, "Come with me."

     He led his son into the house, through the kitchen, and upstairs
to the boys' bedroom. Seating himself on Bob's bed, he said, "OK, go
ahead and try it on."

     Now wanting to die of embarrassment, the boy turned around to face
the wall. With his back to his father, he quickly took off his jeans
and under-shorts. Jerry couldn't help beaming as he silently watched
the unveiling of the exquisite preteen physique. His son was still in
the relatively early stages of puberty, but it was already obvious that
the kid was going to be a looker, no question about it.

     He watched as young Bobby put his bare feet through the straps of
the supporter and then pulled the garment up over his narrow,
beautifully formed little hips. No problem so far -- Jerry was puzzled.

     Bob slowly turned to face his Dad, and Jerry immediately saw what
the dilemma was. Of course, he mentally chastised himself, I should
have realized...

     The boy had put the jockstrap on in exactly the right manner. The
issue was another matter altogether. Jerry could plainly see that,
although the undergarment was a perfect fit in all other regards, there
was no way on god's green earth that the little boy-sized pouch was
going to be able to contain what was clearly man-sized equipment.

     The kid's prematurely developing cock and balls were straining the
elastic mesh to overflowing, and must have felt excruciatingly
uncomfortable. Chip off the old block, thought Jerry.

     Willing away yet another grin, he said, "Bobby, you just bought
the wrong size."

     "But Dad, the package says..."

     "I know, I know," Jerry said, hurriedly glancing at his watch,
"I'll explain later. Tell you what -- I'm gonna run down to the mall,
right now before they close, and get you a proper one."

     An hour later, Trish was at her sewing machine, adjusting the
waistband and leg-straps of a man's large-size athletic supporter.
Having done the same thing a number of times for her husband, she knew
the drill.


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


     Jerry, still smiling, snapped himself back to the present. In the
intervening years, according to his wife, "the seamstress", Bob had
moved up in size to an XXL, the same size Jerry wore. Ian, apparently,
was still making do with an XL.

     Yes, it was definitely time to spend a day with his boys.

     Bob suddenly moved to get up from the table.

     "Um, may I be excused?"

     "Of course," said Trish, "What's up?"

     "Oh, not much -- um, I promised Mr. Roberts that I'd help him in
the darkroom tonight." The lie escaped his lips before he had a chance
to stop it. Perhaps it was because he was feeling a little embarrassed
by the idea of "modeling". Certainly, it was not really his sort of
thing.

     Whatever, it was 6:40, and he had to get to the studio.

     "Don't be too late," said his father. "I want to get an early
start tomorrow."

     "Sure, Dad..."

     And with that, he was out the door.


*Chapter 10*


     Ian looked up, and watched Bob leaving. It was terrible, feeling
so unexpectedly uncomfortable around his brother.

     It was also a drag not having a summer job. Finding ways to kill
time, day after day, was getting extremely boring.

     He had spent the better part of the morning trying to call
friends, but nobody seemed to be home. Finally, he had decided to
hitchhike to the beach. It usually took about half an hour or so; if he
hurried, he'd be there by 1:00.

     He had run upstairs to the bedroom, quickly changing into his
favorite, frayed cut-offs. The denims barely covered the top half of
his thighs, but his jockey shorts kept everything in place, so that
wasn't an issue.

     Suddenly remembering his aborted experiment of the previous day,
he hooked his thumbs into the waistband, wriggled and squirmed a bit,
and managed to work the tight, faded shorts down a few inches, exposing
just a little more of the rock-hard abs he was so proud of.

     Problem.

     The white jockeys were now visible above the denim waistband.
That's no good, he thought. Then he realized that, with the waist in
the new, lower position, the legs were also riding lower.

     It just might be possible to get away with no underwear.

     He hurriedly undressed and then, leaving the jockeys on his bed,
pulled the denim shorts back on. Normally, because of the size of his
endowment, he would never consider going without underwear. There were
simply too many wayward erections with which to contend. Today,
however, he was feeling a little reckless and dangerous. Moreover, his
long T-shirt should cover any developing problems.

     As he arranged himself in the low-riding shorts, so that
everything was hanging to the left, he felt a little tingle of
excitement. Flashing back to last night, he thought, well I may not be
quite as big as Bob yet, but I sure as hell have nothing to complain
about.

     He zipped up, shoved his red Speedos in a back pocket, threw a
towel around his neck, and ran out the door.

     Twenty minutes later, he was in the back seat of a station wagon,
dodging three screaming kids and a dog.

     Happily, the vibrations of the car seat were giving him a semi-
erection, and he allowed himself to enjoy the sweet distraction. By the
time the little family dropped him off, he had to carry the towel in
front of his crotch to hide the fully hard cock, but after a 5-minute
walk down the gravel lane to the beach, it had pretty much subsided.

     Whew.

     Now and again, dealing with his independently minded dick was like
being on a runaway rollercoaster -- kind of entertaining and thrilling,
but horrifying and nerve-wracking all at the same time.

     Just before the beach, there was a wooded area, with lots of
bushes and heavy undergrowth.

     Ian parted some branches, and made his way through the shaded,
green zone in order to change into his Speedo in private. He unzipped
the cut-offs, and was half bent over, pulling his feet through, when he
thought he heard a sound coming from nearby.

     He froze for a second, and then turned around slowly. Temporarily
forgetting about his bare butt, he quietly raised one of the
overhanging branches, and, as he peered into the small, hidden
clearing, his mouth fell open in wonder.

     From a distance of about ten feet, he was looking directly at the
profile of Doris Campbell, a girl in Bob's class. She was kneeling on
the ground, wearing only the panties part of a purple bikini. Ian could
see almost all of her tits, except the part obscured by her arms, which
were reaching up and holding onto Gary Pringle's saliva-drenched cock,
which was pumping in and out of her mouth.

     Standing beside Gary was Scott Thomas, who, like Gary, had his
swimsuit pulled down to his thighs. Scott appeared to be watching the
other two, while slowly stroking a respectably sized hard-on.

     As Ian watched, Scott moved in behind Doris and, bending down,
began to pull off the rest of her bathing suit. Relinquishing Gary's
cock for a moment, she stood up and removed the panties herself.

     Everyone was being so quiet it was eerie. Now, Doris was lying on
her back, and Scott was climbing between her legs.

     Ian, careful not to make a sound, was caressing his own suddenly
forceful erection.

     Scott's cock entered the girl, and his hips began to thrust
rhythmically. Gary was kneeling over her head, and she resumed hungrily
sucking his dripping shaft.

     Ian spit into his hand as silently as possible. Mixing the saliva
with his generously flowing pre-cum, he massaged the throbbing head of
his cock, quivering with the incredible sensations overpowering his
entire body. Grabbing his churning balls with the other hand, he
squeezed and pulled on them harshly while staring in utter fascination
at Scott's cock, then Gary's, as the two older teens writhed in
ecstasy.

     Meanwhile, Doris had begun rapturously massaging her clitoris,
adding another stage of pleasure for herself, as the two overheated,
powerful 18-year-old cocks serviced her mouth and cunt and she reveled
in that uncommon extravagance. Suddenly, a gurgling sound emerged from
her throat, and now Scott's hips were hammering into her furiously,
while Gary's' entire being appeared to be convulsing.

     It was all too much for Ian, now violently pounding his out of
control, massive erection while watching and listening to the three
teenagers attempting to suppress a chorus of whimpers and groans. He
shuddered, and covered his mouth with his left hand as semen shot
forcefully from his cock head, again and again and again...

...to be continued


Please feel free to let me know what you think of the story so far. There
are more
installments coming soon.

brewsterhardy@hotmail.com