Date: Thu, 06 Dec 2001 22:27:24 +0000
From: Java Biscuit <javabiscuit@hotmail.com>
Subject: boy in a pink box, chapter five

This is a story involving 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.

Feedback to javabiscuit@hotmail.com

Boy in a Pink Box ~ chapter five

by Biscuit


Through the trees I saw my dad's truck and shoved Gareth
away from me roughly. My eyes zeroed in on my bike, on
its side in the driveway. A nightmare scene flickered through
my brain, as I imagined my dad looking at it, wondering
where I was and heading out into the woods to look for me.
Holy mother of fucking Christ, I felt as guilty as if it had
happened that way!

Gareth was not happy about the sudden shove away from
me and smacked hard at my arm. Hard enough to sting pretty
bad. I shot him a look, rubbing where he'd hit.

"Cut it out," I said; desperately trying to think of how I
was going to explain being home and not at the beach with
Terry. Oh God, Terry. What the hell was I going to tell my
dad? I'd never had anything to hide from him before, not
like this stuff. I kept walking and lost track of Gareth.

He barreled into me from behind just as my dad came out
through the office sliders. The kid must have had his arms
folded up like a football player when he charged and
rammed into me. I went flying forward and almost fell.
He ran right past me toward my dad.

"Cheers!" Gareth shouted at him.

"Hey, tough guy," my dad said, and I watched, amazed, as
the kid flew past him and realized, one second too late and
still off balance, that he was going for the garden hose.
With a vicious cry of glee, he turned it on full blast and
took aim at me. There was no way at him but straight
through the cold shower. We were both soaked by the
time I wrestled it away from him. My dad had retreated
to the safety of his office. When he came back out he had
a couple of big towels and threw one at each of us.

"You guys can ride into town with me," he said, like
everything was normal and I hadn't just been getting
my dick sucked by a ten year-old boy. "I'll drop you
at the beach for a few hours and pick you up after work.
Sound good?"

Not a word about Terry, not a word about why I was
home or how I'd gotten hooked up with Gareth. It
was so weird. Gareth was already racing toward the
truck waving his towel like a victory flag. I snuck a
quick look at my dad and found him looking at me.
The unasked questions hung there in my brain, and I
felt my face getting hot. He reached out and squeezed
my shoulder, aiming me at the truck and walking.

"We'll stop and tell Gareth's mom that he's going to
the beach with you." Gareth's arms dropped to his
sides and his face screwed up.

"She's not home, Mr. Davis," he said.

"Well, we could leave her a note," Dad said.

"Um, I told her you guys invited me. She said she
was going to Boston since I was off to your place."

He pulled the towel around himself.

I felt really bad then, remembering how happy he'd
been when I came home, realizing he must have been
freaked out, wondering if he'd be on his own all day.

"You're welcome, anytime, sport, but don't do that
again," my dad said, in his real serious, I mean it,
voice. "You call first, okay?"

Gareth nodded, looking up from the ground to see if
my dad was mad at him, and I got that feeling again
like I wanted to squeeze him in my arms. I think my
dad got that feeling too, because he picked Gareth up
and swatted his ass before lifting him into the back of
the truck.

"All right," he said, "hands feet and everything else
away from the sides. Joe, you know the rules, hang
on to Gareth." Letting us ride in back, which he didn't
let me do often, was his way of saying he wasn't mad.

We settled with our backs against the cab; the metal
bed was cool from the truck being parked in the shade.
When Gareth leaned into me, I put my arm around his
shoulders.

My dick was so hard. It chafed in my damp pants but
felt good at the same time. It was heaven to be riding in
the back, in the sun, my arm around him, knowing he
was mine for the whole day. I wasn't even worried, by
then, about seeing D'Arcy and Jen. They might not even
be at the beach, I thought. If they were, I'd just say I
didn't know where Terry was. I tried not to think
about Terry.

It got even better when my dad pulled off into Costa's
parking lot. The clam shack was one of the best things
about summer. The smell made my mouth water and
my belly rumble with sudden sharp hunger.

When my dad asked Gareth if he wanted clams with
bellies or without, he made horrible faces. He wanted
fish, and once we got the chips/ crisps mystery
solved out he was happy.

I spaced out, watching him eat. We were outside, at
one of the funky picnic tables with a feast laid out
on paper plates and plastic trays. The sun had pretty
much dried me off by then but I still had my towel
tied around my hips; a good thing since it helped
hide what looking at him was doing to me.

Gareth's lips were shiny from the deep fried fish, and
so were his fingers. He was chomping away, his cheeks
bulging with fries, and his whole little body was
swaying with the motion of his legs swinging under the
table. He caught me staring, and his smirk, with his lips
pressed shut around all that food, made my dick swell
even harder.

I had to look away from him and concentrate on eating.
I asked my dad which site he was going to be at; he
hardly ever had just one job going on, but went from
site to site. Listening to him drone on about the roofing
job in the east end of town helped settle me down.
I avoided looking at Gareth and my dick, thank God,
calmed down.

D'Arcy and Jen were at the beach, and so was Terry.

In a way, it was a relief to see him even though I felt
nervous. At least I knew he was okay, not murdered
somewhere out in the dunes, like that woman they
once found with her hands missing.

The tide was high, almost all the way up to the slabs
of concrete. D'Arcy and Jen were stretched out on
their towels. Terry was a little ways down the beach
with some other kids that had a frisbee.

The girls fussed over Gareth. Jen told him she had
some fags with her and D'Arcy rummaged a comb
out of her back pack, insisting that he let her get the
tangles out of his hair. Maybe he was used to girls
from being around his mom. He plunked himself
down and let D'Arcy comb his hair, and took a
cigarette from Jen. Way too weird. I left him there
and headed down to where Terry and the others
were tossing the frisbee.

He didn't look any different. I don't know why I
thought he would, but I kind of checked him out,
a little bit at a time, in between tosses. He looked
just the same as before. What did I expect?

His arm was powerful and when he threw to me,
he put so much on it that it burnt me to catch the
fucking thing. I didn't throw to him and I didn't
let him see me flinch even it nearly took the skin
off my hand to catch it and the force of it jolted
pain up my arm.

Terry was setting up to throw to me when Gareth
came running up, barefoot and shirtless with his
combed out hair whipping in the breeze.

"Me," he shouted, "throw to me Tarzan!" I swear
to God, I held my breath as Terry turned around. I
was scared to death that he'd throw to him like he had
to me and take the kid's head off or break his arm.

Then I saw the frisbee sail in a perfect gentle arc that
carried it, soft as a kiss into Gareth's hands. It was
an incredible toss and I wasn't relieved that he
hadn't hurt the kid, I was jealous. It hurt worse
than his blistering assault at me with the frisbee,
to see how happy he'd made Gareth.

"Come on, Tiger," he said. "Throw it back in
here." Gareth was sparkling with delight at his catch
and sneaking in closer to get set up for his toss. He
obviously had no idea how to throw the thing and
twisted his whole body around. It flew from his
hand and took off in wobbling flight and the next
thing I knew Terry was on the run, like he was
chasing down a ground ball, and damn if he didn't
scoop the thing up before it hit the sand, spin and
shoot it off at me all in one motion. I nearly missed
it, caught it rough, and sent it off to the next guy.

By then, Terry had scooped Gareth up off his feet
and was heading out into the water with him, just
like fucking Tarzan carrying Jane off into the jungle.

"What's with that throw?" I could hear him teasing.
"Was that like, cricket or something?" Gareth was
laughing and I took the next toss, but after that
I waved myself out of the game, heading out after
them.

They'd gone deep, or at least Terry had, and Gareth
was half swimming, and half being towed by him,
out toward an empty mooring raft. I followed them,
feeling the drag of the meal I'd just eaten in my
stomach and an overall dread of what the hell Terry
was doing.

I couldn't see them but I could hear Gareth's
giggling voice as I rounded the seaweed-slimy
base of the raft.

"Bugger off," Gareth laughed. "What's it to you?"

Terry was hanging on the ladder, with his back to
it, both arms bent behind his head, hooked over
a rung. Gareth was hanging in front of him, his
hands on Terry's shoulders and I saw he was
nervous, in spite of laughing. He was blocked
by Terry's body from getting up to the raft.

"Hey," I said.

"Joey!"

Tired as I'd been, a second before, I tread water
steadily, feeling stronger the minute he lunged
toward me, calling my name.

Terry went up the ladder and I swam to it. I watched
Gareth climb ahead of me, his shorts soaked and
dragging down his hips, showing the start of his ass.
Then I climbed after him, grateful to feel heat of the
dry wood surface under me. Terry was on his back,
propped up on his elbows, and it struck me how
manly his body was getting. He looked less like a
kid than I did and I found myself wondering what
had happened to him out in the dunes.

"Junior wouldn't give me any juicy details, Davis."

Gareth had gone to sit at the edge of the raft with
his feet hanging over.

"None of your buggering business," he said, twisting
around to glare at Terry.

I dropped down not far from Terry, and stretched
out with my hands under my head, momentarily so
pleased with the heat under me and knowing that
Gareth hadn't been, I don't know, kissing Terry, or
something like that when I found them, that I just
closed my eyes and ignored them.

There isn't much wave action on the bay but the
raft rocked lazily and I honestly think I could have
fallen asleep, no problem. In spite of Terry being
pissed at me and swimming away with Gareth, I
felt good that he was there -- like maybe
everything wasn't totally fucked up.

A shadow blocked the sun and I looked up to see
Gareth's face over me and the next thing I knew he
was straddling my legs and sinking down on my chest.
His skin was dry and warm even though his cutoffs
were still wet, and his hair damp. I didn't even realize
I was half hard until he was on top of it and it stiffened
up harder. I expected some kind of comment from
Terry and looked over at him. His eyes were on me,
but when I looked, he turned his head away, scanning
the water and the beach.

"Don't get carried away, Junior," he said. "Not here,
anyway." He was right. I tensed up, realizing that
it only felt private out on the raft, in fact, we could
be seen from the shore, or by boats.

"I'm not doin anything," Gareth said, his head
lifting up from my shoulder. But he didn't try to
stop me when I rolled him off to the side of me.
My shorts had a major tent, but I wasn't the only
one. All three of us had sprung wood. Terry laughed.

"Where's Goldilocks when you need her, man. This
dick's toooo big, this one's toooo little," his hand
shot out and he pinched Gareth's crotch, making him
squeal. "Ooh, this one's just right." I caught his arm,
laughing, before he could grab at my dick. It wasn't
serious grabbing but I got an odd rush from it, my
dick getting seriously hard to the point of aching.

"Let's do it in the water," Gareth said, his green
eyes twinkling and his face dimpled up. "You," he
said to Terry, "just keep your hands off my arse.
That's for just Joey. But I'll wank you, if you want,
if Joey says it's okay."

I think Terry and I had matching looks of disbelief
on our faces. It was one thing to be joking around,
or for Gareth to kind of snuggle up to me, but what
the fuck was he saying?

"You talk to your mother with that mouth?" Terry
said. Then he looked at me. His face was flushed with
more than the sun, and his eyes were serious. I knew
that whatever the hell was going to happen, or not
happen, was going to be up to me. Not just because
of Gareth's bizarre pronouncement, but because I
understood that Terry didn't want to force me into
anything.

"There is somewhere we could go," Terry said, his
eyes still on me. "If you wanted to." Then both of
them were looking at me.

"Where?" I asked, my throat so dry it came out
raspy.

"Over there," he pointed to a clustered mooring not
far from us where three boats floated together. "The
Donna Lee. I know the guy that owns it. He's not out
there now and I know where he stashes the keys."

"Joeeeey," Gareth begged.