Date: Sat, 26 May 2001 07:57:42
From: guess who? <spunkmachine@hotmail.com>
Subject: Squirts 3: Jake Bares His Soul

SQUIRTS

by Bambino


Author's disclaimer: The following a work of fiction.  All characters are
purely fictitious; any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental.
Although this story describes minor boys engaged in sexual activities, it
bears no relation to real events and as a work of literature is protected
under the First Amendment to the Constitution of the United States of
America.

The author retains the copyright on this work.  Distribution or posting of
this work without the author's permission is a violation of that copyright.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


CHAPTER 3: JAKE BARES HIS SOUL

A week passed.  It was October, and the leaves were piling up.  The weekend
found Adam and Jake, as usual, raking clear the back patio.  This area, in
reality a space defined by a pair of giant chestnut trees shading a lawn
table, was not rightfully a patio at all, but Frank had named it so to
avoid confusion with the word 'yard,' since this last encompassed almost
eighty acres.

Jake, who had been particularly antagonistic -- even almost sadistic -- to
Adam following the bathroom incident, taunting and teasing him, victimizing
him with all manner of cruel tricks and gibes, had lately quelled these
habits to a certain degree.  He now had good reason to tuck his proverbial
tail between his legs and law low for a while.

A notice had arrived from Jake's junior high school, reporting a number of
unexcused absences tallied by computer, and Frank had come down hard on his
truant son, sparing the belt but grounding him from excursions with "that
delinquent Mike," or anywhere else, for a whole month.  The punishment had
stung Jake deeply and set him to grumbling to Adam, since his were the only
available ears to receive his gripes.

Still another matter kept Jake from protesting the severity of the
grounding: Jake's quarterly report card, due to be issued in just a few
days and bound to arrive in the mail shortly thereafter.  Jake had great
justification to dread this delivery: he was in serious peril of failing
several of his courses and furthermore, the report card was sure to
enumerate further absences for which Jake had forged notes.

For what appeared sheer anxiety, and since he was not at liberty to brood
over the business of his report card with Mike or other pals, Jake prattled
to Adam as they raked leaves from the patio.

Adam asked: "Aren't you afraid that dad'll thrash you around when he sees
it?'

Jake, in one of his characteristically exaggerated gestures, drew himself
up abruptly and screwed his urchin face into a caricature of outraged
shock.  "Hell y -- hell yeah," he replied, dropping his voice to a husky
half-whisper.  "That's why -- " and here Jake leaned on his rake and threw
Adam a sly wink, his dimples creasing, " -- he ain't gonna read it."

Adam looked back perplexed.  "Whaddya mean, he ain't?"

"I mean, stupid, that dad can't read what he never gets."

Since his meaning still seemed lost on the younger boy -- could his little
brother truly be so dimwitted? -- Jake elaborated, almost as if his plans
were too brilliant to keep to himself.  He crouched low, draped one lanky
arm over Adam's shoulder and drew hi into a conspiratorial huddle.  He
explained the steps of his scheme as if they were the marvelous
progressions of a scientific process: "Report cards are issued Thursday,
and mailed either on that day or the next.  If they're mailed Thursday,
they'll get here Friday; if they're mailed Friday, they'll get here
Saturday or else Monday, since there's no mail on Sunday, right? Get it?
No? Mail comes in around eleven in the morning, when dad's already at work.
He picks up the mail from the box out in front when he comes back, around
five or six, see? But he won't find the report card -- duh! -- if I've been
here during lunch break to go through the mail first, eh? An hour's enough
to get here and back from school -- it's only fifteen minutes on bike."

The idea made sense in theory, but Adam thought it wildly risky.  He gave
only halfhearted approval to Jake, which caused the older boy to huff and
puff, until Adam finally admitted that the plan was fail-safe.

Even though he knew, of course, that having hatched a plan of his own, it
was no such thing.

Monday arrived, and the boys returned home from school to find a message
from dad that he would be working late in the city, and that Aunt Darla
would be in charge for the evening.  For both boys this was a dismal
prospect; Aunt Darla was a tiresome lady, overbearing, meddlesome and
inquisitive beyond reason and furthermore a horrible cook; Josh and Jake
could expect burnt slop for dinner.  She pestered them in regard to their
chores, seeing that they were done with an eye to detail; she insisted upon
checking over their homework more scrutinously than would any of their
schoolteachers.

Dinner was interminable, a nightmare satire of "20 Questions" with that
number squared.  Whether or not Frank permitted the boys to eat their
supper on the living room sofa planted before the TV made no difference to
Darla, who intended to instill what she called "good Southern manners" in
the pair of little ragamuffins.  "Your grandmother, were she alive today,"
she was fond of proselytizing, "would be ashamed of you and your father, I
daresay, for bringing down the class of the family!"

When Darla launched herself into one of her sermons, Jake -- taking care
that he distanced himself from the woman by greater than an arm's length --
often took to mouthing her every word in eye-rolling, tongue-wagging
parody, to Adam's giggling amusement and Darla's pointed indifference.  On
occasions, when the mood took them, the boys liked to invent mildly cruel
games by which they might antagonize their annoying aunt, which were
usually carried out with faces unflinchingly straight, until at last they
succeeded in bringing Aunt Darla to exasperation.

The single positive outcome to Darla's visits, despite her tedious
personality, was the fact that soon after supper was finished she tended to
doze off in Frank's great armchair before the fire and remain more or less
comatose until he returned, usually well after midnight.  This meant that
the boys, being miraculously entrusted to put themselves to bed, might stay
up late, lounging on Jake's big queen-size bed and discussing all those
things that liked to sneak into boys' heads when they were supposed to be
asleep.

Jake, having temporarily forgotten his nail-gnawing anxiety over his
forthcoming report card, tonight could talk of nothing else but Jenny.

Jenny was a pretty blonde slip of a girl in Jake's homeroom class, the
flower-fresh type that all the boys stare at and dream about, the belle of
the school.  And Jenny, like so many other girls who conformed to the class
of female older boys called 'babes,' flirted mercilessly with all the male
gender, blissfully unaware of the cruelty she inflicted upon them in doing
so.  A pert-faced, sweetly tart and fresh-scented little creature, she
skipped through life in perfect ignorance of how easy a matter it was to
torture the poor many youngsters subject to her hundred coy tricks and
routines, of how she was able, with a glance, a certain tilt of the head, a
titillating trifle of clothing, to unleash the floodgates to their raging
hormonal reserves, to set their stiff young cocks to aching and throbbing
without recourse.  Jenny (like young Adam) was yet too innocent to realize
that her artless gifts caused a not too few boys to shiver in their beds at
night, wrenching forth the contents of their tormented balls, a thousand
toe-curling solitary orgasms for Jenny, a billion times that number in
wriggling youthful spermatozoa sacrificed to the little virgin goddess,
spent like soldiers in jungle warfare, deceived, like so many others of
previous generations, to believe that their mission would take them on a
desperate swim through a warm narrow channel of girl-flesh, only to be
flung out into cold, empty air, to fall and die on sweaty skin, on
undershirt collars, in steamy pubic jungles, and so far from the vagina
which had stirred them forth, and which lay between Jenny's supple,
peachy-soft, unparted virgin thighs.

Like Jenny, Adam had no true concept of these mysterious facts of nature;
he was aware only that she exerted a strange and almost frightening power
over boys -- that without overmuch effort she was capable of making a big
putty-ball of all of them in one little hand.  A perceptive boy, Adam
recognized this power, though he himself did not feel victim to it; he
began, as Jake rambled and fantasized out loud, to appreciate that girls
like Jenny seemed to be blessed by nature, deserving or not, of a wonderful
gift.

Jake himself, when speaking of Jenny, seemed a creature transformed, a
beast tamed, a boy Adam barely recognized for his own big brother; Jake's
voice, usually so jeering and hard-edged, had dropped to a gentle, almost
tender murmur.  Even his face, which was seldom without vestiges of rancor
or contempt when turned Adam's way, had taken on a whole new look: one of
wistful yearning and dreaming, the sooty black eyes big as chestnuts and
softly unfocused, and the mouth, once relaxed and free of its many
contortions and twists, showing itself to be an organ of pleasing
conformation, such as might fascinate a girl like Jenny should she notice
that lips so resilient and shapely and soft seemed especially adaptable to
the contours of another pair.  Suddenly Adam envisioned Jake kissing Jenny
on the lips, and gave a helpless little shiver of emotion.  He filled with
a bittersweet, terrible jealousy: despite valiant attempts to endear
himself to his big brother, he was ever betrayed with belittlements and
gibes, while without even trying, Jenny -- even by the mere mention of her
name -- was afforded those parts of Jake he so desperately desired for
himself but was denied: his affection and kindness and even, so he dared
think even if he had not known the word, his devotion.

A strange stirring awoke in Adam on this night, a turbulence in some deep
dark corner where all had previously lain still.  He decided, though not in
deliberately conscious terms, that he disliked Jenny, disliked all girls
like Jenny, the pretty little things that boys talked about, that wonderful
handsome boys like Jake talked about with such revolting and
uncharacteristic sweetness.  That he were deprived of this power relegated
so freely to the opposite sex left him with an uneasy lack, a void.  He
decided, almost in the same pulse, that he wished to visit a profound and
lasting hurt upon Jake, in accordance with some mad sequence of logic: if,
without nature on his side, he was unable to wield the mysterious influence
that was Jenny's instrument, then he would force Jake to pay for the lack
that had been his inheritance, and so take some of the wind from Jenny's
greedy sails for his own.

No less susceptible than the other boys in his class, Jake had fallen under
blonde Jenny's spell.  Adam raptly attended his brother's narrative, as the
older boy spoke his mind in regard to just what he would like to do with
Jenny, his raucous whisper occasionally rising inadvertently into full
voice at one particular detail or another, then quickly dying back down to
a secretive hush.  Adam, despite the pain of Jake's betrayal, could not
help being enthralled by the older boy's talk, which was full of
deliciously vulgar teenage jargon:

"...More'n anything, you know, I wanna hump 'er... 'cept girls won't let
you do that right off the bat, not the ones worth doin' it to, anyway....
Fuck, I'd pork 'er in a sec, though, if I had the chance...."  Jake turned
over on his back, throwing one arm behind his head while he talked.

From Adam's vantage, it looked as if Jake had cracked a boner in his
boxers, but in the dim glow from Jake's night-light (which Jake still used
long after Adam had given up his own), the heavy shadows tended to play
trick's on Adam's eyes, so that he could not be certain whether the
billowing silky cloth was supported by empty air or by hard flesh.  He felt
almost surprised at himself when struck by an impulse to reach out with his
hand, to grope Jake's crotch, to verify the state of his cock by feel.

"Dang..." Jake was moaning.  "That's why I can't wait to be sixteen,
y'know, so that I'll be able to drive like Mike.  You know he takes girls
down to the flats all the time, bones 'em right there in the camper hatch."

"Does not!"

"Betchyer ass he does! If I could go out there with Jenny, just me and
her...."

A long heavy silence filled the room as the unspoken conclusion to this
clause hung in the air.  Josh broke in, curious and eager to have his
brother go on with his horny soliloquy: "So what would you do with her?"

Jake seemed glad to oblige.  "Well, you start a girl off by makin' out with
her for a while, sucking face and necking, so that's what I'd do first.
Then I'd go up her shirt and suck on her titties and if she let me, I'd
finger her puss until she couldn't stand not to have me in her....  Then
I'd take mine out, let her get a good look at it.  Girls like big ones, you
know.  I'd slip on a rubber and fill 'er up.  If she wouldn't go for that
I'd settle for her sucking it, and if she wouldn't go for that then she'd
damn well better give me a handjob or else I'd bust off all over her."

"What's a handjob?"

Jake spoke in an almost angelic whisper, as a hungry epicure might speak
about a rare delicacy he had tasted infrequently and too long ago.  "It's
when a girl... jacks you off."

Adam propped his head up on one hand, rising up on the bed.  Jake shifted,
crossing his bare legs at the ankles.  The movement left no more room for
doubt as Adam looked on: Jake was most certainly pitching a hard-on, and it
looked to be raging.

"Jake?"

"Huh?"

Do you ever jack off?"

"Huh? Me? Hmmm... once in a while... sometimes... it depends...."  This was
an outright lie: Jake liked to masturbate two, three times a day, more if
he could.  But he saw no reason to disclose this private fact to his little
brother, who had probably never done it even once yet.

Adam, a boy blessed with unusual and precocious sensitivities, could always
tell when his brother was lying; like now, Jake scratched his head, rolled
his eyes, rubbed his nose with the knuckle of his index finger while
uttering a falsehood.  But on this occasion, as most always, Adam kept this
knowledge to himself.  He liked keeping track of Jake's lies, since most of
them covered up something intriguing and worth knowing -- it was like
storing up a secret file all about his brother.

Now the adolescent propped up his head.  "So you know about jacking off,
squirt?"

"I heard you telling jokes about it to Mike.  I've never done it."  Adam's
voice was flat and automatic: the voice of truth.

Jake sank back into the pillow, to stare up at the dim ceiling.
"Eavesdropper.  You oughta try it sometime.  Feels hella good."

"I don't know how."

Jake gave a sudden outburst of jeering laughter, quickly stifled.  "You
gotta be shittin' me.  It ain't that hard to figure out!"

Adam changed the subject.  "Jake, how old were you when you started to get
hair around your penis?"

"Don't say 'penis,' squirt -- say 'dick,' or 'cock,' but not 'penis.'
Little boys have 'penises.'  Men have dicks."

"Okay, your dick."

Jake scratched his scalp.  "How the fuck should I know? A long time ago --
I guess I was about eleven or twelve when it started comin' in.  Now I have
a whole big old bush."

"I know, I've seen it.  Which one was it?"

"Huh?"

"You said 'eleven or twelve.'  Which one was it?"

"Beats me -- maybe I'd just turned twelve.  Yeah, now I remember, cuz I
already had some when I started seventh grade -- it started sprouting the
summer between sixth and seventh.  How come you wanna know?"

"You have a lot of hair on your balls too, huh?"

"Yup, big fuzzy nuts."

"Lemme see."

"Fuck off! Hey, you turning into a fag for real? Besides, you already saw
it in the bathroom, re -- "

Sounds from downstairs: the front door being unlocked, opening.  Adam
bolted from the room on spry bare feet.  Gaining his own bed, he
immediately feigned sleep.  He soon found that he was, in fact, sleepy; the
pretense lasted only a few minutes until it became genuine.