Date: Sat, 09 Feb 2002 14:37:19 +0000
From: Java Biscuit <javabiscuit@hotmail.com>
Subject: Back to the Playground, 9

This is a story involving boy/boy, teen/boy, male/male
graphic sex and not intended for reading by minors. If
you are underage, or this type of material is illegal where
you live, please stop now, and go read something else!

This is a completely fantasized story meant only for the
purpose of pleasurable reading. It explores themes which
some readers may find offensive or disturbing. It's not
meant to encourage unsafe, unprotected sex, or to
condone sex with minors.


Feedback: javabiscuit@hotmail.com


Back to the Playground ~ chapter nine


by Biscuit

Charlotte rented a house on Cape Cod for the month of
August. It was her farewell to the East Coast. At the end
of the month, Charlotte, Art, and a very sullen teenage boy
were moving to Oakland, California. I was invited to join
them for a weekend, in the middle of that beach house
vacation.

We'd come up with no firm plan beyond facing a long
separation. I'd promised to fly out west to visit, which
Charlotte had invited me to do, at some unspecified time
once they'd gotten settled. Skyler thought I could pretend
to fall in love with Oakland when I visited them and say I
wanted to move there myself. Possible, but vague.

I think it was the pressure of not knowing when we'd see
each other again that made us careless. We overslept. A
rain soaked, dark Sunday morning. Skyler was in my bed,
up my ass, when Charlotte opened the guest room door.

The storm had made it seem much earlier than it was.
I'd woken up feeling Skyler's warm body over my back,
his slippery cock nosing between the cheeks of my ass.
I knew it wasn't a good idea, but it felt so good and I
wanted him so bad. I knew it was going to be the last
time, for a long time.

We never heard her or saw her, didn't know she'd seen
us. The noise of the storm masked the sound, if there
was any sound when she opened the door; rain lashing,
rattling windows. We were totally absorbed in fucking
our brains out. I was biting the pillow to keep from
groaning out loud, all I could hear was rain, my own
harsh breathing, and Skyler panting on top of me.

I don't know at what point she opened the door or
how long she watched us, but it wouldn't have taken
long to figure out what the hell we were doing under
those covers.

Skyler went downstairs first. I showered and dressed,
it was close to eleven o'clock by the time I went down.
Nobody was in the front room that overlooked the
water, where all the hanging out usually went on. I
heard Skyler's voice. No words, but the tone was so
serious it alarmed me.

They were in the kitchen, facing each other across
the broad rustic table. Silence, the minute I appeared.
Then Charlotte said to me, "There's coffee. It's still
fresh." Perfectly normal thing to say, but the look on
her face was anything but. Strained, to say the least.

Skyler shot me a warning look.

"My mom knows you let me sleep with you last
night," he said. "She saw us just now."

"Skyler don't," she snapped.

It's funny that inside I felt dead calm even though I
saw that my hand was shaky when I reached for the
coffee pot. Let him sleep with me? She saw us! I had
to say something but I couldn't think what.

"I'm sorry, Charlotte," is what came out of me.

"Don't, Brandy," she said. "It's my fault." What?
I looked at her, completely confused. I'd known this
woman for a long time and yet we weren't close. In
general, I'd say, we had a sympathy for one another,
both caring for and about Skyler, both of us in
psychotherapy for what seemed like forever.

It wasn't the first time she surprised me. She had a
way of coming from out of what I'd call left field.
But this was far and away the most bizarre thing
she'd ever said to me.

"Your fault?" I echoed, totally baffled. Why was
she seemingly angry at Skyler and looking at me
full of careful concern?

"Yes," she said, "my fault. I've known for a long
time how Skyler feels about you and still pushed
you to spend time with him. I could have predicted
this would happen. I know you Brandy," she said.

What she didn't know could have filled a library.

"You're like me," she said. "Vulnerable. You don't
know how to say no." She laughed, awkwardly, the
way people do when they're sharing something a
little more intimate than they're sure you're at ease
with. "We give," she said, "men take." Men? What
the fuck?

Daryl, strangely enough, had had an uncomfortably
similar reaction. He'd said to me, the day after he
walked in on us, "You know, you're not necessarily
doing that kid any favors giving in to him You could
say no to him."

Good God. Why did people see a kid, who was
seven years younger than I was, as the one in
control? Because I'm physically small, blond, or
what?

Daryl thought I was weak, Skyler was strong, and I'd
caved in to him even though I knew it was wrong.
Trent was upset. He was worried that I'd end up hurt,
or hurting Skyler, neither of us, in his opinion, in any
shape to carry on a real relationship. Nobody saw me,
as I saw myself, the seducer of a young boy.

"I could have said no if I wanted to," I told her and
she just gave me a wan sort of smile. Though I was
relieved that the police weren't about to bust me for
child molesting, I didn't know what to say to make her
understand, without making her understand too much.
My blush was a wave of heat rising up my throat into
my face. Oh God.

"Mom," Skyler said. "Please. I'm not my dad. I'm
not going to get Brandy pregnant and desert him or
something. I just want to be with him."

So unreal. My stomach was trying to turn upside
down inside me. I needed a cigarette, even though
I'd pretty much given them up by then. I saw
Charlotte's on the table and they looked damn good.

I glanced at her and motioned pathetically at the
smokes. With the warmth of a fellow addict she
slid the pack toward me, making Skyler groan loud
in protest.

"Mom, don't encourage him."

"Just like your father," she shot at him. "That's the
first thing he tried to control about me." Skyler
threw up his hands in theatrical surrender and I
guiltily took a butt from her pack.

Three hours later, with nothing resolved, I was
back in my apartment, hiding in my bed. My hair
loose around me, smelling like apples.

I don't know what had possessed me. I'd walked into
a salon at the airport and told the girl to shave it all
off. She wouldn't do it. She undid my braid and
brushed it out, looking at me in the mirror.

"I don't think you should do this," she'd said to me.
Maybe she saw how close I was to crying. "I'll trim
the ends for you," she said. "We'll give you a nice
shampoo and conditioning. You'll feel better."

I can't say I felt any better. I was both relieved and
disappointed that she'd stopped me from doing
something so drastic.

One thing I hadn't known, until that morning, was that
Skyler's dad was almost exactly seven years younger
than his mom. It made me feel sick when she said it,
trying to make me see what she thought her son was
doing. Was there any truth in it? Were Skyler and I
just enacting bizarre family dramas with each other?

I felt an old, and overwhelming impulse to roam the
park in search of guys. But, fucked up as I was, the
the thought of going out in the pouring rain, which had
followed me home, was more than I could bear. I opted
for crawling into bed at about six o'clock.

Near seven, still awake but too miserable to get up, I
heard someone on the stairs. No knock. I was braced
to see Trent when the door swung open. But it was
Skyler.

It was an overblown sort of teenage dramatic thing to
do, coming after me. But it worked. The whole mind
fuck of the day paled at the sight of him. I sat up,
letting the covers fall.

I watched him shed a trail of wet clothes from the
door to my bed.

"Sky, your mom knows you're here?"

"She knows. I'm staying with you until we fly
out west, at least," he said, burrowing into the
covers with me. Two weeks, it was like a miracle,
an eternity, having thought I wouldn't see him
until sometime in winter.

Skyler was his wrestling self, restless. I battled
him a little, just because it felt so good to have his
naked body rubbing against mine. I caught his so
often pouting bottom lip between my teeth before I
kissed him. At the same time I tried to trap him on
top of me, between my legs. The more he struggled,
the harder I got, rubbing against his cock, moist with
our juices. I  could have come like that, easy, but he
pulled away from me suddenly, with a groan.

"Not yet," he said. Man, not a second too soon. I
was so close. I gave myself a hard pinch and tried
not to jump him. He was rummaging in the bedside
drawer for a condom. I was so tempted to grab him,
the inward curve of his waist, golden tanned skin
turning pinky-white over the round cheeks of his
ass. He didn't have a sharp tan line. He was shaded
from dark to light, from swimming in different suits.
I ran my hand over his ass.

"Hey!" he protested.

"Hey what? You're getting that out for me, right?"
I knew he wasn't.

He turned over, tearing the packet open.

"This is for you," he said, stroking himself. I watched
him roll the thin moist sheath down his cock. He was
biting his bottom lip, his eyes narrowed at me. For
him, like for me, putting it on was erotic, a signal to
the brain that something really good was about to
happen. Sky's eyes were so dark right then. They
looked more purple than blue.

On my belly. We'd done this only ten hours before in
the beach house. I flashed back to it, and how good it
had been then. And then, the aftermath. God, don't
think about it now, I told myself. Skyler was on my
back, working his cock into me. I tried not to think
about anything, to concentrate on the feel of him
stretching me open. He got deep and started stroking.

Then there was blessed oblivion of fucking.