Date: Sun, 21 Jun 1998 23:30:56 PDT
From: Graham Day <g_day@hotmail.com>
Subject: Cucumber Salad

Cucumber Salad
by
Graham Day
 

Story Code/s: T/t t/b (young-friends/incest)

Comments/suggestions to: g_day@hotmail.com 

NOTES & WARNINGS: 

This story may contain descriptions of sexual acts between boys and/or men
and boys. If this is not to your tastes, please leave now. If you are under
18, or if it is illegal in your state or country to read or possess
material like this then it is in your own interest's to leave now.

The story is copyrighted by the author. A single copy has been placed in
the Nifty archives for your enjoyment. Please do not distribute it to any
news groups and/or other web-sites without permission of the author. You
may, however, send it to your friend s as long as payment is neither
requested or received.

This story is fiction. Any resemblance to any individual, real or
fictional, living or dead is purely coincidental

My apologies to all Portuguese readers that the special symbols have been
deleted. I hope it is still readable.

If you have any feedback you can e-mail your constructive comments to me at
g_day@hotmail.com

			    *******************
			      Cucumber Salad
				 -Part 1-
				    by
				Graham Day
 
Dedicated to Ozdude, the best buddy a 16 year old boner ever had.
  
  
So there I was, looking at all this stuff I had to get sorted into three
groups: one lot for the trash can; another - my little kid's stuff - for
the local orphanage; and the rest for dad to ship back home to the Upper
East Side apartment. This presented a problem: I could spend like a whole
day just thinking about what to do with my stuff. I mean, take my teddy: at
thirteen-and-a-half it ain't cool to have a teddy no more - but is it cool
to pack your best buddy off to some crummy orphanage, where you know the
kids are gonna rip his head off in a scramble to get him?

Then there is Action Man. Man, the hours we spent together!

"Say, Joe, what say you and me go fuck Barbie?"

"No way, man, Ken's back in town."

"So I guess we better just jack off?" G. I. Joe would slip his hand into
Action Man's battle fatigues. Yeah, we had some good times my buddies and
me.

Fatima was clattering around the kitchen making lunch. At this rate it was
gonna be after siesta-shutdown time before I got cardboard crates for this
stuff - major crisis stared me in the face. Dad, who was still in this foul
mood about the alimony, told me to clear out my room and if it wasn't done
by nightfall, he'd confiscate my Game Boy and the Walk-man. As sure as eggs
are ovos he'd do it too! This was seriously mean - how could he expect
anyone to fly Lisbon to NYC nonstop with no Bon Jovi and no gobble games?
What is a dude to do - cut his throat with the plastic airline cutlery and
bleed in the sick bag? So on my last day, do I hang out with the guys from
the American school? Do I take the line 28 tram to rattle along the
miradouro de Santa Luzia through the narrow curving lanes of the Calacada
to the Largo da Graca? Do I enjoy the old white city for one last time? No
way! I sat there contemplating Dad's instructions and a room full of four
year's mess.

I had this seriously weird family - Dad was this vice-president responsible
for overseas development, so we kinda had two homes: one in New York and
one, well, wherever. We were always moving on. The dudes at the American
school thought this was cool, but like, you never knew where your stuff
was. I mean when you want something it was always at the other place. This
could be a serious bummer.

Just before 13:00hrs, when they shut up shop for the meio-dia, I squeezed
into the Loja de Verduras e Frutas around the block from Dad's apartment on
the Rua 25 Abril - man, everything in Lisbon seems to be called April 25,
the day in 1974 that ended 50 years of dictatorship. Fatima, or
housekeeper, had been sending me to the Pinto family's greengrocer for
things since we arrived in Lisbon four years earlier. The old boy prided
himself on quality - not a lettuce with leather edges in the place.

Whenever I enter the little shop, colorful with the fruits of the
Mediterranean, old Sr. Pinto's played out this little ritual - he would
call Jose from the small office at the back, where he might be doing his
homework or working on the accounts, to serve me. I think old man Pinto had
trouble understanding my New York-accented-Portuguese. The seductive
language is a tongue-twister of nasal n's and m's and 'sush'-sounding s'es,
which don't mix too well with NYC-speak.

"Boa tarde, Sr. O'Toole. Como vai?" Unlike his exuberant brothers, he was
soft-spoken and seldom smiled. It was real odd that Jose always addressed
me as Senhor, 'cause I was like three years younger than him.

"Hi, Jose," He quickly averted his eyes and turned his attention to a bunch
of grapes.

"Deseja alguma coisa?" Closely examining a radish, he asked how he could
help me.

"I've got something special to ask you today..." I explained how I needed
some cardboard-crates. Phil Collins was singing softly on the radio at his
father's elbow on the counter. Coarse hair burst, like a coir from a
mattress, from the gaps in Mister Pinto's check shirt. Jose also had tufts
of silky black hair sticking out from his T-shirt, but that is where the
family resemblance ended - he was tall, almost pale and slender while his
dad and the other two boys were swarthy and short, with round handsome
faces. The Portuguese were a cocktail - they were this interesting mixture
of part Roman, part spade, part Spanish and god knows what else.

"Well, can you help?"

"I'm sorry, Sr. O'Toole, we got rid of all the boxes this morning. Maybe I
can save some for you over the next few days and you can come by next,
Saturday?" Was it my imagination or was he only nervous when I came by? I'd
never seen him like this with Fatima or other customers.

So I spilled the whole story: how '83 would go down as the year my world
collapsed; how the divorce was final; and how I would be flying stateside
the next day to live with my crazy mom.

"Para alem do Tejo ha America - E a fortuna daqueles que e encontram." It
was poetry Sr. Pinto was reciting, - America and its opportunities waited
beyond the river Tejo. Yeah, I thought, the exploration of the new world
started here centuries ago. The old boy told Jose that he was off to lunch
with his sister and shut-up the shop on his way out.

Phil Collins sang: "You can't, hurry love ..."

"I am sorry to hear you are going Sr. O'Toole." I'd noticed he had two very
strange habits: he would either avoid looking at me at all - or he would
close his eyes, then turn his face to me, then slowly part his long dark
lashes - like he took pleasure from finding me there in front of him, when
he'd opened his peepers again. He did the second thing. He looked at me
with his dreamy-sad, hazelnut peepers and said: "Maybe I can help you with
the boxes, we might have some at home."

"Is that far? I gotta have them today."

"Well, we live above the shop." His hands were strong and his long fingers
were now straightening a pile of oranges. Jose was tall for a Portuguese
boy. I'd watched him grow from a skinny, acne-faced thirteen-year-old into
a tall, good-looking dude: seventeen; slim waist; well-developed arms and
shoulders; shoulder-length black hair.

"Oh cool! Can I come up and get them?" We had practically been neighbors
for four years but I'd never known they lived above the shop. I thought
Jose and his two brothers were neat and I would have liked to hang out with
them but I was kinda embarrassed. T he reason? Angela, my Mother!

Well, I guess I'd better tell you about it - Angela was seriously into all
this New Age shit. This had been one of the reasons the folks busted
up. Anyway, I was kinda relieved that it happened, 'cause I got sick of
these three-way conversations: "Tell your mother that...." Or "If your
father was a cosmically aware individual he wouldn't be so afraid of his
Yin Yang polarities." You get the idea?

"Your mother is seriously weird, a dog shouldn't have to live with her."
This was pretty rich from the Executive vice-president responsible for
Showing Confusion and Uprooting the Family Every Few Years. Personally, I
thought she'd be okay, in a New Age kinda way, when she got her Chakras
balanced and decided if she was a Zen Buddhist of a Druidic Handmaiden.

"She's got enough money to buy an entire new set of those shackle-things."
Money was a real sore point with dad: "She is the first Gucci Hippie in the
world." This probably made him the world's first American Express Gypsy,
but I let it go.

All she wanted was a simple life: but she also wanted lots of money. So she
got the apartment in Manhattan and a fat wad of cash every month. Dad was
off to Brussels and I settled on NYC for a spell. When I couldn't stand
yoghurt and yoga for breakfast any more, then I'd give Belgium a chance.
But, I'm getting off the subject- we were talking about Angela and the Loja
de Verduras e Frutas. She would come into the shop to buy fruit - she is of
course a total vegan, that's like a radical vegetarian - and she would run
her hand over the stock to pick up vibes. I mean there is this loony-toons
in a caftan, her hand hovering over the carrots waiting for some dumb bunch
of carrots to choose her! To make my death sentence complete, she would
give Jose, his little brother, Joao, or his older brother, Carlos, this
running English commentary. Get a life, old girl!

Jose, and I went out the back of the shop. Locking the back door, he led me
into a small sunny courtyard. I'd never seen no Mrs. Pinto, so I asked him
about her.

"No mama, no sisters - only papa and us three boys. We all take turns
cooking and cleaning for papa, but Carlos is getting married soon, so his
wife will help." Complaining about the heat, he started to pull off his
T-shirt and tucked it into the waistband of his running-suit pants - the
Lisbon spring could be impossibly hot. I found his strong pectoral muscles
keenly interesting and my eyes followed the promising line of dark hair
that pointed down to an unmistakable bulge where his man's dick hung. Look,
don't get me wrong. Jeeze, I ain't no queer or nothing, but sometimes, a
guy just got interested in a little comparative research.

His little brother, wearing only these little dirty-white shorts, was busy
fitting the chain back on the rusty old bike I had seen him use for
deliveries.

"Ola, Senhor O'Toole, Como esta?" Joao has always been a nice kid, I reckon
he must be about eleven or twelve back then.

"Mutio bem, obrigado." I replied.

I saw the kid whisper something to Jose, in rapid-fire Portuguese. He
cuffed the kid's head and told him to go fuck chickens. This sent the boy
clucking around the small yard like a galinha.

"Hey, what did he say?" Jose, shrugged his shoulders. "Say, why don't you
both call me by my first name all this Senhor shit makes me feel like I'm
real old." At my elbow the galinha squawked his agreement, pecking at my
shirt sleeve. This dude was kinda cute.

"Como se chama?"

"Liberty." Yeah, it's embarrassing, but at least it's not Dewdrop or
Rain-cloud or one of the other shitty nature names Angela had lined up for
me. I reckon Liberty was just about the last thing they ever agreed on- it
reminded her of hippie style freedom and him of his favorite Western. Then
for the first time Jose smiled at me.

Now you gotta understand, this puberty shit makes it hell being
thirteen-and-a-half. I mean you get hair in places that were previously
smooth; your voice changes pitch like a steam-kettle; and your hormones
give you all sorts of shitty, uncontrollable, feelings. Like that time I
had a date with Betty Alexander, to see E.T. - the Extra Terrestrial. Well,
to be honest, she only found out afterwards that it was supposed to be a
date - it was just eight guys and girls from the American school, we sat
boy-girl -boy-girl, not touching or nothing. Just after lanky-neck
E.T. dies, and I'm discretely wiping away a tear and I felt Betty's breath
on my ear and she whispered: "Oh Liberty, I just realized, how much you
look like Elliot's older brother."

Her hand stroked my thatch of red-blond curls. "Ah, you are so sensitive."

What is a guy to do in a situation like that? For the first time in my
life, I don't have a reply. My f ace went blood-scarlet, my lung capacity
suddenly halved, I was breathing real shallow, my belly tightened up and I
could feel I was cracking a boner. Well, the same thing happened to me
there in the courtyard - smelling Jose's real-man smell next to me an d
watching this cute golden-brown kid, all hot from the sun, clucking like a
crazy rooster. One minute I wanted to grope inside Betty Alexander's
training bra, and the next I'm seriously interested in what kinda equipment
a real big guy has. Like I said, I 'm not gay or nothing, but have to admit
Jose did stuff to me. I got these like- feelings - I had called them my
'Jose feelings' and that, somehow, made them okay.

"Hey Liberty, you coming up?" He led the way up the stairs to this like
really tiny two-roomed flat. The dinning room, kitchen and lounge were all
one room and had a single bed in it - this had to be the old boy's, judging
from the bible texts and the faded wedding photo. The tiny bedroom held two
bunk-beds. A radio was playing Abba - Agnetha Falkskog's telling the whole
of Portugal about the 'Day Before You came.' The three brothers shared this
tiny room, above the upper beds posters - motorbikes and Bruce Lee with
scratch marks on his chest and shelves holding stuff. I felt really shitty
about having made such a big deal to dad about how small our Lisbon
apartment had been.

"Take a seat on one of the beds, Liberty, I'll get your boxes. Say, it's
lunch-time. Joao is making something, will you have some cool wine and eat
with us?"

"Yeah, great, I could eat a horse." I was glad to sit down, my bloody
erection would not subside. Jose shouted out something to his brother as he
left to look for the boxes. I sat on the bed, my foot booted something and
it rolled out. It was a long thick cucumber! Thinking this was an odd place
to store stock, I picked it up. Then I noticed that I could still see my
fingerprints on its shiny surfaced. I held it closer to my eyes to inspect
it. There was some type of grease on it. I held it to my nose, Vaseline -
these Pinto's sure did odd stuff with their vegetables.

Vaseline! My mind raced. What would these regular guys be doing with a
cucumber covered in Vaseline? I was keenly suspicious. I sniffed again, the
smell was familiar - I know dirty, when I smell it, and here was a putrid
heap of it -definitely anal. I realized this cucumber had been up someone's
ass! My cock gave a mighty throb in my jeans. A drop of pre-cum colored the
faded denim. I squeezed my prick wondering what to do with this butt-hole
plug in my hands. I had this like great urge to whip out my cock and
whack-off furiously before anyone came back.

"Oh you found Jose's joystick?" My heart leapt into my throat. I had not
heard Joao entering the room. He held a tray in his hand with three glasses
of iced wine and some nibbley things on a plate.

I pushed the greasy cucumber back under the bed and tried to look cool and
composed which, taking into account that I had just been caught squeezing
my cock; creaming my jeans; and fiddling with somebody's fuck-stick, was a
substantial achievement.

"Dad made the wine himself." I did not appreciate being reminded about his
dad - would he go telling him how he had caught this crazy American kid
squeezing his cock while sniffing his brother's anal invader? He straddled
a chair opposite me, the only one in the small room, spreading his legs
wide. I needed time to sort out the situation - I'd had been caught, so to
speak, green-handed and I wished Jose would come back and rescue me from
this kid's rather unsettling looks. He sipped his wine and leaned back on
the chair with a sigh and made himself comfortable.

His white gym shorts were baggy and loose fitting - I guessed they had been
handed down from his brothers. He glowed, hot and sweaty, from the work in
the spring sun. This little snail-trail of snot crept slowly down his upper
lip, through the early beginnings of a downy brown moustache. He licked it
away with his little pink tongue and I swear, this made my cock jump
again. It was coiled-up painfully in my jeans, like a rolled up
high-pressure fire-hose with the water turned on.

"Like what did you mean with Joystick?" My curiosity was aroused.

"Oh he likes to sit on it." Joao laughed and rested a dirty hand on his
inner thigh. Looking at the kid's wide-open, hairless, legs was becoming
more and more pleasant.

"What do you mean, sit on it?" I probed a bit more. Joao's olive-smooth
legs were powerful for his age - I remembered he was a keen football
player.

"Oh, you know how it is. When Jose gets horny he wants something up his
shithole. He says I'm too small." He laughed. I watched with pervy
fascination as his index finger crept up the leg of his pants and started
probing inside the darkness at the top of h is crotch. He rearranged his
jewels in his shorts in such a way that a few stray strands of pubic hair
showed above on his left leg. These Portuguese guys seemed to mature kinda
young. I found myself wondering if this also meant he could shoot a little
jizz. If I was even slightly gay, which you know by now I am not, I would
have said that the tip of dinky uncut cock that peeped out of the other leg
of his shorts at me, was very lovely to look at.

I poured more wine into his glass from the little carafe thing. We both
took a long deep drink of the wine. I it was kinda making me a bit light in
the head and my nose was itching. Meanwhile, back at the top of the stairs
- fuck my fanny, if he doesn't s tart fingering the Pinto family jewels -
his finger kinda caressing his young boy's cock, and tugging at the thick
foreskin. If he was this regular straight arrow, why was he go doing this
stuff?

"When you arrived, I asked Jose if you were his substitute cucumber." This
was seriously naughty talk for a little kid. I was even more shocked when,
giggling again, Joao leaned over and touched the damp spot on my jeans that
I was like casually pretending wasn't there. "You're all wet Senhor," he
said. His was still playing with his own cock and had, by now, rolled the
foreskin back, to reveal a shiny-pink, tapered, cherry. I felt my throat
tighten like I was choking

"Hey Joao, I like ain't no fag, if that's what you getting at." I, somehow,
croaked out. I was panting like a train. If I had been gay, I'd have
admitted this was the most exciting thing that had happened in my virgin
life. My head spun - as it the wine? I had to get outta there. All these
kinda lust-like feelings boiled up in me and I'd start doing shit to the
kid any minute and what kinda pervert would that make me? I stood up. My
massive bulge was unmistakable and was at about his eye level.

"Like, I think I better go help your brother find my boxes, before
something seriously wrong happens." I started to move past him but the gap
between the beds and the chair was kinda small and I had to brush past his
leg to get out.

Then Joao made his move. He grabbed firmly and quickly at the O'Toole
family jewels. I was amazed at his skill: it was like he'd pulled this shit
before. He zipped down my fly and next thing I knew, there is my familiar
King Kong-log between my slender leg s, pointing up skywards, like one of
those whippy aerials on cars. Next thing he has his soft lips kissing the
tip of my big cock. I had better explain that I was kinda small for my age
except in the genital department - it's as if nature saved up all my growth
hormones for one large practical joke.

A shiver of pleasure ran through my entire body as he actually took the
head in his mouth! I mean, Jeeze, I'd heard about blow jobs, but I believed
only old toothless fags and real pervy women did that stuff - not nice
young kids. My left leg started to quake uselessly. He mouth was soft and
tender and he sucked my cock very gently. I reached down and fondled his
little cock - the tip responding to my touch and this sticky stuff glazed
the tip.

"Tudo bem?" Asked Jose, as he re-entered the room "The boxes are waiting
for you in the shop." My heart stopped completely for an hour - or at least
I thought it was that long. I tried to whip the cock out of the boy's mouth
but he held on like a hungry calf. And snatched my balls to make sure I
couldn't getaway. Fuck! I can't believe this is happening to me: this will
mean a big dent in my image!

"I.... well, shit." I tried to explain. We looked at each other in
shock. Would he kill me, beat me up, or just call the cops?

A smile broke over Jose's handsome face. He strolled over to the bed and
poured a glass of wine.

"A sua saude!." This odd-sounding toast to my health was all he said before
draining his glass. He walked over to his brother and stroked his dark
curls. "He sucks really well, don't you think?"

With Jose so close to me, I was overcome with his warm masculine. My cock
seemed to take over and started fucking the little guy's face with renewed
impetus.

"I--I found this cucumber under the bed -- it was an accident and then,
well, your brother came in and he started to lay this heavy shit on me.
Like, he started doing stuff with his own tool and like I threw a
boner... and like..." My hopeless attempt at explanation trailed off at
this point.

"I ain't never done this faggy stuff before." I said, desperate for him to
believe me. "Tell him to stop and I'll go away and you will never see me
again, I swear...."

Jose put his arm around my waist and kissed me full on the mouth. His mouth
was a rare pleasure, his tongue exploring my teeth and lips. He tried to
slip me his tongue, but I started to gag from the surprise of it.
Recovering, I pulled him closer to me an d my hand explored his body -
caressing his naked chest. I played with his brown nipples and then moved
my inexpert hands down until I reached the sharp tent his manhood made in
his running-suit pants. His eager hands found mine and helped me work his
pants down to the ground, revealing a glorious eight inches of man-cock and
these big hairy balls. I was surprised to feel all this thick spot black
hair around his crotch. My hand explored: his belly; his balls; his butt -
all wonderfully hairy. Man, I was in heaven. I could not stop to think
about what I was doing I just kinda surrendered to it all.

"Hey, little shit, stop sucking so I can see what the man has got down
there." Jose called out to Joao who was still working my cock shaft.

"Deixa-me em paz! Leave me alone! I saw it first and I want the leite
quente." He spat back at his brother, as he released my cock. The warm milk
they were arguing about was about to put in an early appearance. Jose jaw
fell slack-open when he saw my nine inches. He squeezed it and wanked it
gently. I had four hands pulling it this way then that.

" I knew it! Once you see his cock you want it up your dirty shithole and I
don't get to suck it. Why don't you stick your pepino up your hole and
leave him to me."

"Fuck-off, kid!"

"I got him to take his cock out."

"I got him to come home."

My cock was in no mood for an argument. While this was not quite my first
time, I was like having great sex with this handsome older guy and this
real cute kid, and it was a real turn-on they were like fighting over who
did what to me.

"Hey quit fighting, otherwise I'm just like gonna have to whack myself
off." Jose sank to his knees in front of me and stuffed as much of my cock
in his mouth as he could.

Joao whipped his shorts off to showed me his precocious three-inch tool.. I
stood him on the chair and stroked his naked boy's body. His nice, firm,
light-brown hard-on stuck out from his belly like a sore thumb. A few
scarce, but long, dark pubic hairs spread out to left and right of his
pecker - you could count them, there were so few. His balls were big in
comparison and hung in a hairless pear-shaped sack.

Now, as you know, I'm no fag and I kinda always thought that cocks,
especially little boy's cocks are there to pee with, but, hey, one good
turn deserves another, and this guy had given me this relay great blow
job. There is a time and a place for everything - now was my time and here
was the place. He was standing on the chair jacking-off when I lowered my
head to his cock - I swear I only planned to like nuzzle it, but next thing
I knew I had it full-in my mouth and I'm sucking it, getting high on this
strong funky little boy aroma coming off his skin. Joao groaned as he
fooled around with my ears. He tasted sweet and fresh, his skin slightly
stinging of sweat He was trembling under my mouth as I sucked him off then
sank one ball then the other into my mouth - this blow-job business was not
disgusting after all.

"Oh Liberty, you suck real good. Better than Jose." My hands explored his
firm legs and wandered around to his little butt -hard and smooth and
sweaty from working out in the sun. My fingers found their own way down the
crack. My tongue worked its way into his tiny piss-slit. His legs were
shaking as much an my own and I knew I was gonna bust my nuts any second.
My finger found the very hole of his little, boy's butt. It's tiny and very
tight. As I massaged it I felt it loosen very slightly, then the muscle s
trapped my finger at the entrance of his cute cozy little hole and I felt
his nuts tighten-up hard, against his cock and I knew he was about to cum
and I was gonna join him.

If he was gonna slime up, I did not think I was ready to take it in my
mouth, so I released his saliva-covered dick and whacked him till he yelled
and his balls busted, and this thin watery liquid ran over his cock like a
shinny glaze-coating. Not yet real cum, but a wet cum nonetheless. I did
the old tongue-tip-test on the slime and it did not taste as revolting as I
expected, so I sucked a bit more off his red sore-looking knob-head. He
went limp in my arms, and still shaking, he got off the chair.

Down below, Jose was working frantically at my cock. Well, I'll be fucked
in half if I knew how, but he had stripped me naked, without my noticing
it. He grabbed my leg between his thighs and rubbed himself off
doggy-style. My big toe started to explore hi s hairy nuts.

"Don't cum I want you to fuck me." He said in this mouthful-of-dick
voice. Frankly, this was like King Canute trying to order back the
waves. Jeeze, I'm under fourteen not some sort of advanced sexual athlete.

Jose didn't say another thing, but lay me on the lower bunk-bed next to
him. He released my adolescent ballsac from a long hard suck and pulled
away to stare at my cock; sizing it up, as it were. Then he opened his
mouth and took a deep breath, as if he was going to push his head under
water. Then he went down on me in a frenzy of enthusiastic activity.

"Hey Jose watch out, I'm gonna jizz in your mouth."

This only seemed to like make him more desperate and he sucked even
harder. He was breathing as heavily as I. Then CUM TIME! I unloaded what
felt like the biggest fucking wad of my young life. I could hear Jose
coughing and spluttering and I knew that I must like have sent thousands of
those little sperm things swimming into his mouth.

In heaven, I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, Jose was whacking
himself, trying not to lose his erection - but his cock was deflating.

"Alheiras de Mirandela" - he called my cock his piquant Portuguese sausage.

"Well I reckon that makes Joao's a chouricos." I laugh at the thought of
the pepper and garlic flavored little sausage I'd just been sucking.

"Hey when you recover will you post your Alheiras de Mirandela in my caixa
do correio" Sausages and postbox this guy was nuts.

"Are you gonna spunk up on my Alheiras de Mirandela." I asked him jerking
him with my left hand I wanted to see his man's load of cum and fancied the
idea of it in milky-white pools on my belly.

"It's gonna take a bit more than a wank to get me to cum." He said
sadly. "It's no good, I'm gonna have to do it my own way. I hope you don't
mind, Liberty. Joao, bring you brother the joystick." Joao obliged and
handed him the pepino and the Vaseline.

A few strokes later, the cucumber is well and truly greased-up. With a
mixture of amazement and very intense voyeuristic pleasure, I watched this
gorgeous guy get off by squatting on the bed and moving this large cucumber
up to his hairy crack. His beautiful face twisted with concentration, as
with a firm grip on the cucumber and a gentle grunt, he started to thrust
it inch by inch into his asshole - it looked to me like he had mistaken his
bum for a food-processor. The deeper the cucumber slipped into his hole,
the more movement I detected in his cock, until it had recovered a full
erection.

I sat on the bed slowly masturbating again while I watched this incredible
display. I felt Joao leaning against my back. He was still naked and his
cock was soft but still warm. He pressed it on against my back and put his
arms around my neck and whispered in my ear: "It's always the same - he
can't cum without something firm and hard in his bum. First he stretches
his hole with the pepino and then he is ready to take a cock."

Joao and I watched as Jose moved up and down on his joystick His eyes
glowed with intense pleasure as he rode the cucumber like a kid pretending
he was riding a horse. Some pre-cum shimmered at the tip of his prick and
some of the excitement was getting to me again. This was very distracting,
and frankly lewd behavior from a guy much older than us kids.

There was some serious vegetable abuse going on here! Perhaps my crazy Mom
was right to go getting vibes from the vegetables in their shop. The poor
things were probably crying out for help. One way or another, you would
have to be pretty damned careful what we bought there in future. Were there
tell tale pubic hairs on the lettuce? Cum-stains on the damaged end of a
soft paw-paw? Vaseline on the zucchini? Anal mucus on the marrow's? Signs
that the parsnips had been blown? Worst of all, where the asparagus looking
all limp and shagged out?

I had vision of protest groups congregating outside the shop baring
placards that read: 'Stop this Abuse of our leafy friends!'

'Carnivores against vegetable abuse!'

'Leave the baby marrow's to enjoy a happy childhood.'

'Vegetable sex hurts us all!'

Joao moved closer to my ear again and whispered: "He has tried my chouricos
in there often enough, but he thought it was too small. I have brought
friends home for him. He is always too shy to find his own playmates.
Always in the past, he first pushes the cucumber up his hole, then he wants
my friends t o shove their cocks in the shit as well. But, after his big
green friend, he always finds their cocks too small, but maybe you can help
out, you got quite a big one there. Do you fancy a fuck?"

"You bet your brother's sore fucking ass." Joao reached down and squeezed
my cock again as I felt his little cock pressing into my back.

I could have shot my load there and then, if it wasn't that Jose opened his
peepers and looked at me, sweat plastering his long dark hair to his face.

"It's okay, now. I'm ready, Liberty! I want you to fuck me deep and hard!"


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

Well, I guess it's time for me to tell you more about my deformity. Shall I
put it this way - if I get to fill in a job application form sometime and
there is a question - Do you suffer from any physical disability? I will
have to answer yeah. - BFD Syndrome. I guess that personnel people, being
what they are, they would be to discrete to ask what it is, so I'll have to
tell them BFD is Big Floppy Dick syndrome. Nothing wrong with the length -
Jeeze nine inches on a thirteen-and-a- half is pretty respectable, it's the
aerodynamics that bother me. Man, it's a killer, I tell you. I mean it is
really, really embarrassing. Eventually I will get to lay some lady and she
will be laid out, all hopeful and expectant and says to me: "Liberty,
darling, take your clothes off." Hoping to see this nice cock, maybe a bit
on the big side, she dies of fright when what does she get? The Hindenberg
- that's sprung a leak.

It is so floppy, that I can slap my thighs on either side with it and whip
my butt and my belly above the navel. God built it as the perfect
masturbation engine, but forget about any form of penetration. Not that I
had tried much in the penetration stakes, that is. So that's the tale of
Moby fucking Dick.

But, it gets worse, much worse: I suppose since it's tell-all-time, I'd
better give you a for instance. Well, I told you about my Jose feelings.
Well, there was this guy at school named Kevin Rosenmund and okay, if I
must be honest, I also got Jose feelings about Kevin. I'm an eighth grader
and he was like years ahead of me, but 'cause the school's so small, we
guys all got to do PE in the gym together once a week.

Kev organized the whole thing. At first we had no clue what was going down,
he just told us just he wanted the entire male population of the American
school in the boys' locker-room.

"We all had 'nough joking 'bout who's got the biggest dick, so were gonna
have a cock length competition." He informed us, when all forty of us were
gathered. "I am gonna to take the length and thickness with this here tape
measure an' Willie-Joe will keep score."

Willie-Joe Rayhill, son of an Atlanta banker, was a wise ass little prick
with matching genitalia. About thirteen, he didn't look a day over nine. He
might be the winner in the peanut-penis of the millennium competition.

At first there was silence. We were all a bit stunned. This kinda kinky
thing was the last thing we had expected to hear from Kevin Rosenmund. Some
cat-calls jeered the idea, but by the time Kevin got started, most of us
were kinda keen to play along.

At this school of ours, there was the periodic interest in your own and
someone else's tool, but you had to be very careful - a bit too much
interest could earn you a fag label for life. Poor Danny Hudson, was
considered a bit of a queer, 'cause he always peeked a sideways look at us
when we're changing and two guys had been expelled from the school for
having sex in the showers the year I arrived in Lisbon. Like the rest of
the guys, I had learned to sneak a look at the other guys' tools, using my
peripheral vision in the showers. This competition would finally put an end
to all the speculation as about who had the biggest dick.

"Whip 'em out boys and get 'em good and stiff." Kevin called and Willie-Joe
took a clipboard and pen and followed him like a clerk at an agricultural
show on bull judging day. The locker room was very crowed and the
mid-summer temperature got most of us guys to strip off completely, while
some just dropped there pants.

"Jack off guys, but mind yer don't go jizzin' now, I want 'em hard as
possible."

Kevin Rosenmund, a senior, had been a school football and swimming star
back in the States. His blond hair and blue peepers had ensured him an
enthusiastic following among the local girls. He stripped off completely
and strolled up and down the line we ha d formed slinging his cock around
like a cheerleaders baton and stopping now and then to playfully squeeze
some guy's dick and tell him he'd have to get it stiff if he wanted to be
in the running.

Then he went to the end of the line and started with Jimmy Aitkinson. Jimmy
was a cool Canadian dude. We hung out together a bit that summer. Jimmy had
a fairly formidable weapon under his Levi 501's. From where I stood at the
end of the line, I didn't have a good view of what was going down, but Kev
seemed to be taking a lot of time performing the simple task of measuring a
cock. I mean, it should have been - length and circumference, write it
down, next one.

Tommy Jackson, pretty small; Billy o'Connor, average lots of red hair; Leon
Cardinali Italian origin, thick fucker, lots of black hair. This was the
first opportunity I had had to like really unashamedly examine the dicks in
the school and there were some very intriguing specimens. Some shooting off
at odd angles; big balled buggers; barely discernible balls; lots of hair;
hardly any hair at all. All the guys were jerking off - a keenly
stimulating spectacle. Poor old Danny Hudson looked as though he had died
and gone to heaven.

Then Kevin reached Steve Hickey. Steve was a new guy in school. He was an
Ohio Farm-boy who's dad had been appointed as agricultural attache. Kevin
Rosenmund went down on his knees in front of Steve's cock. He eyed it and
started measuring it. That was when the first 'accident' happened! There
was bit of a crush in that part of the locker room as some guys, keen to
see what was going on, bunged into Steve from behind. As he stumbled
forward, his cock just like blundered into Kevin's open mouth. A dick in
Kev's mouth! Well, this cheer went up from all the guys as Kevin coughed
and sputtered and tried to wipe the taste of penis out his mouth.

Then I noticed there was a whole load of pre-cum leaking like melting ice
over Kevin's cock. The sly fucker had liked it!

The second 'accident' was just about a rerun of the first. Steve was pretty
close to me in line and I caught a good eyeful of the whole incident. Again
some over enthusiastic voyeurs hustled Steve into the gaping mouth of
Kevin. Two accidents were more than any fifteen-year-old can be expected to
endure - so he shot his wad there and then - most of it straight into Kevin
waiting cakehole. What a sight!

The moment the spunk shot into Kevin's mouth something incredible happened
to me. I must have some kinda valve thing in it and that kicks into
operation, mainly just before I cum, but sometimes when I get real excited
about something. Well, you can guess the rest - suddenly my respectable
nine inch BFD stretched out in all directions. It was gross - the skinniest
kid in the school, ribs showing the lot, with this huge fucker that like
almost caused me to topple over front-ward with the extra weight.

The locker room becomes hushed. I realized that every one of the
jerking-off guys were staring at me in, almost religious, silence. My nine
incher had stretched to eleven and it doubled its thickness.

Kevin got up off his knees and makes this big performance of spitting out
Steve's load of jism. "Fuckin' tarnation you watch were you shootin', boy."
Sure thing, Kev! His jerking cock told another story. He didn't fool me
with this macho act - I'd got his number by then. He skipped the boys
between Steve and me. There is a moan of disappointment - some of the guys
seemed to want him to touch and squeeze them.

"I reckon we got ourselves a hands down winner." I watched Steve milk the
last drops of milky cum outta his dick and I felt myself getting Jose
feelings for Steve. Jeeze, these Jose-feelings must be contagious. I'd also
like to grab hold of a few of the other thirty-seven cocks in the school,
even little Willie-Joe, who, his zipper full down, had fished his out and
stood expectantly flogging his log next to me.

Then Kevin settles on his knees staring my piss-slit in the eye. I felt his
trembling fingers and the tape measure wraps around the Hindenberg and
Kevin calls out the measurements, but Willie-Joe was too busy jacking off
to write it down.

"Willie-Joe quit strangling the poor little critter and measure mine." He
did so and announced a good eight and three-quarter inches. Kevin was
leaking pre-cum all over Willie-Joe's eager hands.

"The Winner is Liberty O'Toole - by a long shot. Now, as school president,
I think it my right to bring this winner to a well earned climax." Clearly,
Kevin Rosenmund has a fine future in politics ahead of him. A cheer went up
and all the guys, cocks in hand, crowded in around Kevin and me. Somehow
the Rosenmund mouth stretched wide enough to take the entire fucker
in. Gone was all the macho pretense! He was gobbling my dick like it was
blueberry pie on the 4th of July. I found I had Willie Joe's baby cock in
one hand and Jimmy Aitkinson's in the other, and I wished I had more than
two hands. Kev brought me to an expert climax before long. That was my
first like real sex experience.

I think that day will be burned onto my memory for the rest of eternity.
Forty cocks pointing at me like an execution line up - what a glorious
firing squad. Forty dudes whacking off and spilling their loads leaving the
locker room floor a sticky mess. Best of all, the school heartthrob on his
knees had swallowed my cum.

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

Further along the Rua 25 Abril, near the school, three heroic Stalinist
figures were painted on the wall: Karl Marx who looked to me like Santa
Claus; Engels was like an heroic old testament prophet; and Lenin looking
for all the world like a pizzaman. Hey , sorry, I'm like that, I notice
things and kinda see things differently that other dudes. But, after I told
them, everyone in my crowd called Marx: Santa and Lenin: Mr. Pizza-Express.

So, at the point when I had all this heavy, grade-a, sexual stuff
happening, I took time out to notice the red and white scarf and rosettes
pinned on the walls that marked the Pinto brothers as Benfica football-club
fans. Then I noticed that there was a sh elf of teddy's, like a dozen or
more of them. Jose recovered enough to tell me that his swarthy,
rambunctious younger brother collected them from cousins and friends, when
they were too old for them, and how he took them down, hugged and loved
them. You might think this is all a wee bit trite, but he was so cute and I
think that a little guy, like this, needed a break and I found myself
liking Joao even more for this hobby of his.

"Tudo bem?" Jose asked in Brazilian, the second language of Portugal, how I
was doing. This awesome looking dude, who smelt like an armpit - a very
sexy hairy armpit, but an armpit nonetheless - fell on his back, legs in
the air, his pepino still embedded in his pungent ass, and he wanted me to
fuck him. Actual penetration! Wow!

"Quer que Ihr mostre a ciDade?" Jose asked if he could show me round the
city - I bet he must have figured it was my first fuck. I was blushing
already.

Jose pressed his lips to my bony chest and kissed my little bee-sting
nipples - no one had ever touched me like that and it was a shock at
first. I'd never though of my nipples a source of sexual pleasure - surely
that was only women that got hot feelings if someone licked their tits?
Shit! Maybe, I was turning into a woman? - That was why I enjoyed this
stuff with these guys.

I knew what was going to happen next and I was embarrassed. The old valve
clicked in and the supercharger went into overdrive. My cock grew just as
it did that day in the locker room.

"What a fucking monster!" Joao fell back in shocked surprise and I watched
as Jose moved hungrily to grab hold of it, like it's the best thing since
sliced bread. "How did you do that?"

Jose says: "o Tamanho!" - The big one. He starts slicking it up with
Vaseline and Joao and I gave him a hand - a lot of Vaseline was needed. I
approached this hole that still had the big green rod up it.

This was no time for being faint hearted. I took a firm grip of the
cucumber and withdrew it in one smart move. As I did so he shot his wad!
Great gobs of pearly cum pooled on his hairy flat belly. A Gentle fart
emitted from Jose's hole the ripe smell of his spunk and our sweat mingled
with the earthy smell from the traces of shit and anal mucus on the
cucumber in my hand. I didn't wait for a second invitation - furrowing my
way between his hairy legs, I rammed my rod into his dark hole, with all
the impetuous violence of inexperience, causing him to shout out so loudly,
I expected the neighbors to bang on the door any second

I showered his neck, face and shoulders with inexpert kisses. The dark eyes
open wide in a mixture of pain and bliss. Then his lips moved: "Fuck me,
Liberty, fuck the shit out of my nadega."

His bum starts responding appreciatively I could feel the muscles clenching
and unclenching. His whole life he had wanted a real cock. He has spent
time with substitutes and little kids. I was what he needed all the time --
I, a kid years younger than him, was giving him what he had craved.

"o Tamanho! o Grande." - He wanted big - he had big.

The cum on his hairy belly rubbed against my tool and lubricated it into
life against my kid's belly. His nuts slap against my balls and sweat
poured off both our bodies.

Jose crossed his legs over my back and he moaned something repeatedly. I
couldn't understand it. A little hand pushed my bum on the inward strokes
it was Joao.

"He says fuck him till the shit comes out his mouth."

"Jeeze, I'm trying my best." I whispered to Joao. "Oh Jose I was wanting to
do stuff with you for years now, I can't believe I finally am" I was
getting soppy and emotional, same bullshit with kissing and stuff, but hell
a guy only gets to take his first fuck once.

Jose pulls his brother closer to our fucking bodies: "You see what you
brother has needed?"

Then it all comes together for us The intense pleasure of asshole closed
around my rampant tool; the smell, the cum thick and white between us; a
lingering taste of Joao's cock on my tongue; the little kid joining in our
lovemaking and whispering Portuguese obscenities to his brother; the memory
of that gigantic school jerk-circle - all came together and I was on the
edge on the precipice.

Joao grabbed the old green monster and shoved it toward his brother's mouth
and Jose takes in the end, that minutes earlier had been in his hole. It
smells joyously of shit and stuff.

I could hold back no longer: "Oh fuck Jose here it comes!"

He held my smooth ass, pressing me deeper into him and arched his back and
I felt the great jets of hot cum spurt repeatedly deep in him. He groaned,
his own love juices spilling between out bodies and dripping down his
sides. His thrill was so intense, he bit off the end of his cucumber

"Well," said Joao philosophically, "he was due to get a replacement from
the shop below a good one only lasts two weeks."

The silence that followed, was broken only by the radio paying softly in
the background. They are playing Fado. I remembered the first night we
arrived here in Lisbon, dad took us to a Fado Cafe in the Barrio Alto. This
fat old lady in this too tight dress sang accompanied by two guitars. I
giggled at first, then something about these words I could not understand,
drowned even the silly twelve-year-old's laughter. The feeling of the music
washed over me as it did over the wet-eyed regulars.

Over the years I had learned how to understand the words, but that day for
the first time I understand the feeling, the emotion, behind it and it sent
shivers up my spine. Amalia Rodrigues sang personally to me, about
departing over the sea and leaving loved ones behind and despair and
longing. Something in me busted - I liked Lisbon - I loved the quirky
graffiti stenciled on the walls of the city; I liked the warm friendly
people and I was going to miss this old white city that had been home since
I was ten. I guess I just felt kinda shitty about everything.

Jose and I embraced for a long time. My cock shrunk to its normal nine
inches then even smaller, until it eventually plopped out of his butt-hole.
Still I didn't want to break away. This was so truly wonderful.  He looked
into my eyes - no more avoiding the m again.

"If only we had started sooner. Four years ago, maybe..."

"Huh!" Joao snorted derisively "Four years ago Liberty was only a kid and I
was a baby. Santa Maria, you two stink of shit and cum!" He wrinkled up his
nose.

"Where is all your spunkiness now?" I ask him.

"Look, I shot another load while you two were fucking like rabbits in
spring time." He pointed out the fresh watery-cum stain in his brother's
armpit where he had rubbed himself off. His tool was still half-stiff and
spunk covered. I drew him closer and sucked it off, cleaning off the last
traces off his cheeky little weapon.

"Almoco - lunch." Joao announced. While he and I washed up over a white
enamel basin, his brother banged around in the room next door preparing
lunch. Bacalhua - cold cod bread and Salada de Pepinos awaited us in the
crowed room, where we sat down naked to lunch. I found myself wondering
about the cucumber salad- could it be? There was no trace of the original
joy-stick. Would he? What the hell, it tasted good.

Well, I'd found a good home for teddy and if I planned it right, and worked
hard all afternoon at the packing, I could take him around the next day,
round siesta time. Then I could say good-bye, properly. A long, slow
good-bye.

The End.


03/03/96 salada de pepinos 19