Date: Sun, 30 Dec 2001 04:45:36 +0000
From: Java Biscuit <javabiscuit@hotmail.com>
Subject: vancouver island 5

This story involves teen/boy, teen/adult, male/male graphic
sex and is 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. This story is not meant to encourage
unsafe, unprotected sex.

Feedback to javabiscuit@hotmail.com


Vancouver Island ~ chapter five


by Biscuit


I didn't try to take Yves across the border from Victoria.
The mainland, the way Saguaro and I had come, seemed
a safer bet. God, he was a fearless little thing. He kissed
his mom good bye and promised to send her packages
full of food from the US. I was the one who choked up
hugging her good bye. Maybe it was because he had no
idea what could happen to us or how far away he was
going.

Armand went to the top of the trail with us. It was
September. Even Armand had a knit shirt on under
his overalls; the air had turned sharp. He and I
smoked our last joint together, waiting for a truck to
stop.

"You be taking care of him," Armand said to Yves, not
to me, laughing.

"I don't let nothing happen, don't worry," Yves said.

He looked so cute in his blue jeans and pea coat. A
brand new knit hat on his head that Sarah had made
for his good bye present.

When a truck slowed up for us, and the door swung
open, I got inside and Armand lifted Yves up to me,
swiping the side of the kid's face with a kiss and
whispering something.

"Oui," Yves said, which he pronounced 'why'. It had
confused the fuck out of me at first, thinking they were
asking each other, "why?" all the time, when really,
they were just saying, "yeah." But I was used to it by
then.

I knew this driver. He'd paid me good money before.
He was squinting over at Yves, wondering, I guess,
if he was going to get anything from me with a kid
there. Yves was glued to me, not out of nerves, just to
be touching. He was way over-excited. Being on our
way had him hopped up like crazy. I could see those
knees of his going and almost feel the energy crackle.
I knew from the way he was sitting that he was hard
and restless and if he thought I'd let him, he'd be
climbing all over me.

Very strange to be between him and that driver,
feeling like both of them wanted me to do something
about their hard dicks. Each one of them probably
thinking the other was the one in their way. True, I
was stoned, so it probably struck me funnier than it
should have.

"Want to pull over somewhere?" I asked the guy. He
wanted it, all right. He was wearing a pair of thick
baggy jeans and the crotch was hiked up over about
five thick inches of wanting it.

"What about your sister?"

Yves growled something in French.

"Brother," I said. "He's okay."

"You sure?" I swear I could just about see his dick
twitch.

"It's up to you," I said, but I slid my hand into his
crotch and gave his cock a tug. Some drivers liked
me to suck them while they were driving. I'd do it, but
wouldn't bring a guy off like that. Too many of them
shut their eyes when they shot off and I didn't trust
them. This one, I knew, liked to pull off the road and
get some attention for his money.

He pulled over at the next widening of the road and let
his seat back, giving Yves a nervous kind of look, but I
think he was turned on by the thought of the kid being
there. Yves was all eyes. He'd seen me do it to Armand,
but this was different, I guess. A strange guy. He told
me later, "I don't like you doing that." But when it was
happening, he seemed okay.

I'd been with this driver before and I knew what he
liked. Before I even opened his pants I got my hand in
his jacket and inside his shirt, into the vee of his under
shirt and rubbed at the fur on his chest. He liked that,
lots of pinching and twisting -- not too hard, just a lot
of it, to keep the blood swelling his nipples up. He
was maybe forty or so, and had told me he only liked
boys on the road. He was straight as an arrow at home,
or so he said.

I liked him okay, seeing him get worked up from me
playing with his tits. The best kind of trick, really. He
was straightforward about what he liked, it wasn't hard
to give him, and he was nice about the whole thing. He
wasn't a handsome guy, but he had one of those faces
that's grizzled and pleasant in a lived-in way, like he'd
mostly been squinting at the road or smiling at people.
His eyes were shutting down and he'd opened his shirt,
pulling up the tee-shirt to his armpits so I could get at
his chest with my mouth. His legs were spread wide
and his hips doing a slow motion dance as I worked
his wide brown nipples with my lips and tongue.

"Oh yeah, now," he said, getting his hand on the back
of my head. I stopped chewing on his chest and went
for his pants.

His nuts were big and hairy, and tight and I hooked
his shorts under them. His dick wasn't real long but it
was thick, and I was half on the floor, half hanging
over his thigh by then, trying to find a good angle to
work on it.

"What do you think, kid?" he said to Yves, and I
felt a little twinge about him talking to the boy.

"I think you like that pretty much," Yves said, and
the guy chuckled but the sound trailed into a moan
as I sank down his shaft and he started fucking my
mouth for real.

Fifty bucks in my pocket never hurt. The guy
stopped and bought us coffees and I smoked up
his tailor mades all the way to town. We were
headed for the ferry to the mainland and the guy
took us all the way there.

Yves had gotten quiet but was happy again as soon
as we were out of the truck and seeing the big-ass
boat we'd be on. Me, I felt rich and kind of excited
too, but with an edge. I kept telling myself that we'd
find a way over the border and if it looked like I
couldn't get Yves through with me, I'd take him home.
That was the one thing I vowed to myself. No matter
what, I wouldn't get separated from him.

The ferry was like Disneyland to him. We froze our
faces, outside on the deck for awhile. He was torn
between looking at the water and burrowing into my
jacket. I'd got myself an army coat, loose and loaded
with pockets; pockets loaded with shit I was a fool to
be carrying. So fucked up. I was a walking drug
store with a ten year-old kid that didn't belong to
me. Thinking about it now makes me weak.

Yves was nudging at me with his dick, looking up
from my chest like he wanted me to kiss him. At
least I wasn't dumb enough to do something like
that, right out in the open where anybody could
have come along and seen us. Hugging was one
thing, I knew nobody would freak out if they
thought I was hugging my kid brother but there
was a whole lot more I wanted to do.

I took him inside, to the men's room.

"I don't got to go, Jamie," he said.

"Oh yeah you do," I laughed. I hadn't gone to
school for nothing. I got him into a stall with me
and our packs. It was tight and he was grinning like
a little fool, on his knees on top of our backpacks,
with me sitting on the can in front of him. Not easy,
but so fucking good to be able to get my lips on his
mouth and my hand in his jeans. It was impossible
to keep him quiet. When that little puffing, groaning
noise started up from him I tried to smother it with
my lips, murmuring, "shh," to him. He nodded but
if anyone had come in there they'd have heard that
last low growl of him coming with his dick working
into my spitted up fingers.

For me, it didn't take much. I was like Pavlov's dog
in a public toilet, conditioned to come. Between that
and having been forced to wait to get my hands on
Yves, I was skirting the edge from the minute I got
my dick out of my pants. When he bent forward
over it, and put his fist around it, I was already so
close that it sent a shudder right up the center of my
body. He clamped his hot lips around the crown and
his tongue slithered across my slit. Just seeing his
head between my legs was such a turn on I totally
lost it and started spurting. Poor Yves had one hand
on my leg for balance and the other trying to control
my jerking, creaming cock.

He was swallowing and trying not to laugh at how
fast I'd shot off. His cheeks were all red from being
bent over, and whipped from the wind outside. I'd
never seen anything cuter than that rosy face with
a mouthful of spunk and eyes glittering like ice. I
was so happy right then, that he was with me, and
that loved me, I could have burst from it.

We settled down in one of the lounges that had
seats facing outside. I had the packs piled up in
the chair next to me and Yves in my lap, leaning
back on them and on me with his legs hooked into
the seat on the other side of me. He was staring
outside but getting sleepy.

The boat wasn't crowded and the place we'd
planted ourselves wasn't the warmest spot you
could find. It was a smoking lounge and kind of
drafty, being near the doors to outside. Not many
people around, and the one who kept showing up,
leaning against the windows, checking us out, was
pretty fucking noticeable.

He was in a long, expensive looking coat. It hung
open and he was wearing a suit. The suit and coat
reminded me of Joe Davis. Lawyer type clothes.
He caught me looking at him as he opened a pack
of smokes. Marlboros, American cigarettes. He
looked American, when I thought about it. I'm not
sure why. Maybe about thirty-five or forty years
old. I wasn't too good with judging ages.

"Smoke?" he asked.

His hair was dark and cut real short. It's funny, he
kind of looked like Armand might have looked if
he was living a different life. Older, taller, but with
Armand's intense eyes. He held out his cigarette
pack toward me.

"Sure," I said, "thanks." Then I was sure. Just the
way his eyes flickered up to my mouth. I'd seen
it so many times before. He edged up a smoke so
it was pointing at me and I took it from the pack.
Then he whipped out a lighter that wasn't one of
the kind you use and throw away, and he lit my
cigarette for me. Next thing, he was sitting down
next to me. Yves started to pull his feet away but
the guy shook his head and pat Yves's ankle.

"That's okay," he said, and tapped out a smoke
for himself. Yves drew his feet away, anyway, and
he got up, wandering over to the window to look
out.

Nathan. Nathaniel Jones. What a shark he was.
He'd sniffed us out, one way or another, and liked
the scent just fine. His dark eyes moved from me
to Yves and back again, like he could see that we'd
been fucking around. I guess, it's all in the eyes
that are doing the looking. One guy might have
seen us there like that and thought, older brother
looking after the younger one. Nathan looked at
us and saw boys he thought were having sex with
each other. Maybe because he knew it happened,
he could recognize it when he saw it.

He wasn't a lawyer, though God knows, he
knew the law. He had to, to work his way
around it. He liked teenage boys and he liked
to take pictures of them. Somewhere out there
are photos and a film of me with the most
beautiful boy in the world. I'm not complaining.
Nathan got more than he'd hoped for from us
and we got over the border.

He had a shiny new car parked down below on
the ferry and we would drive right through the
border with him, with the border guard waving
us on with a happy smile. Nathan, me, Yves, a
shitload of drugs and a trunk full of cameras.

As soon as we were safely across, Yves climbed
into my lap, knowing that Nathan didn't care;
though not caring isn't exactly what Nathan felt.
Yves knew we'd accomplished something great
by crossing into the United States though what
danger we'd run, I'm sure he had no idea. I don't
think even I fully appreciated how disastrous it
could have been.

He just knew I was happy and relieved and that
a huge hurdle had been crossed. And he was in
America.

"We do it, right Jamie?" he said, hugging my
neck.

"Yeah, we did it," I said, wrapping him up tight,
sinking my nose in his hair.

"Did it," he imitated me. It's funny how I was
trying to find the scent of the beach on him and
felt good when I did. It was still in his hair and
on his skin. I let my hands roam down his back
and got them under his coat to feel his ass.

He stole a glance at Nathan and back at me.

"I can kiss you, yes?" he asked quietly.

"Yes." I got the full body press and his mouth
mashed into my lips, forcing me back into the
headrest. My dick started waging war with my
seatbelt. I had to reach between us and get it
unstuck. Yves sat back and zeroed in on the
sight of me with my hardon trapped by my jeans
and the strap of the belt.

"Play like you be tied up, Jamie," he said. Oh,
Yves. My little tormentor. I saw that glint in his
eye.

I don't know what it was about that game that
turned him on so hot. Me promising not to move,
pretending to be tied up. I wouldn't let him tie me
up for real, but he'd say, "Just pretend!" Like only
a fool would care about the real ropes.

Sometimes I thought it was because he was
smaller than me. I never bullied him, or pushed
him around, that I was aware of, but there were
probably times that I physically dominated him,
just because of my size. Sometimes he liked that.
To be in my lap, or be carried. But when we
played this game it didn't matter that he was small,
because I couldn't move and he was in charge.

On the other hand, maybe he just liked to see me
squirm.

"How long?" I asked, not sure I wanted to do
it there, in a car, with Nathan sitting next to me.

"Not too too long," he said.

Not too too -- a favorite vague measure of his.
I wormed out of my coat and let the seat back.

"If I'm tied up, I want to be comfortable." Those
big hazel eyes were smiling as he looked me
over; I knew he was deciding where he wanted
my hands to be "tied." I put them down to
either side of the seat and he nodded. Then he
pulled off his cap and shrugged off his coat. He
had a wrinkly blue button down shirt on, half
open over a tee-shirt. So strange to see him in
clothes like that. I missed his bare shoulders
but the boy looked beautiful in anything. His
jeans were stretched over his hard three inches.

"What are you guys doing?" Nathan asked, and
Yves shot him a wary look, as if he'd just
remembered that we weren't alone, as if Nathan
might interfere.

"Just a game," he said. "It's okay. I don't hurt
him or nothing." I could tell Yves didn't want
to talk to Nathan about it, he just wanted to be
left alone, to play.

"It's okay," Nathan said, and I thought it was
probably more than okay with him. "Just be
careful. People can see in the car from trucks."

"Eh, oui, I be careful," he said as if Nathan was
a fool to think that he, Yves, the game-master,
wouldn't know how to proceed. He smirked at
me and whispered, "Don't move."

He sunk down onto the floor between my legs
and pulled his jacket up, covering himself over
my lap. I almost laughed at the sight of the pea
coat moving with him under it, hiding what he
was doing when he unzipped my pants. Until I
felt him start in with his tongue. Little bastard.

Not too too long, I thought, squirming for real,
dying to come. He'd parked himself down there
and was playing me to the edge with insanely
light touches of his tongue, it was like getting
blown by a butterfly and my cock was jerking
and spitting and I thought I'd die if he didn't
suck me for real.

Then he lifted the coat to peek up at me, past my
tortured cock, his dark-lashed eyes part serious,
part amused.

"Poor Jamie," he mouthed the words. He snaked
his hand under my sweater and tee-shirt, spider
walking up my bare stomach.

"What the fuck is he doing?" Nathan asked.

"Quiet!" Yves insisted in a harsh low voice.
"He don't talk now."

His warm little hand made a cup of air over my tit,
and one little fingertip made its way down to tease
like a feather. Shivers shot out from the point of his
finger, the whole side of me tingling from those tiny,
tiny touches. Yves was killing me. I don't know he
could hold back like he did, how he could just barely
touch me, over and over again. It was turning my
insides to jelly and my dick into throbbing steel.
His eyes were burning under the monk's hood of
his jacket.

He stopped that torture to climb up my body; my
little Houdini, keeping me hidden from Nathan and
passing cars.  I could see though. Under his coat,
he'd opened his pants and his cock was out. He
was breathing hard, straddling my spread legs so
his were forced open even wider and he brushed
my dick lightly with the tip of his foreskin. Then
he slid the skin down to show me the small moist
bulb it was hiding and he shivered like he was about
to pop. I almost came right then, without him even
touching me. And down he came, on top of me,
crushing our dicks together, holding onto my
shoulders, with his whole body squirming and
coming on top of my exploding cock; cum from
hell, like lightening.


We got immortalized, the first time, in a fancy
hotel in Seattle. I think Yves thought we'd died
and gone to heaven. He was so awestruck by the
suite, the view, and the existence of room service.
The bathroom was on beyond belief for him. He
walked around in there, staring at the big sunken
tub and all the mirrors.

"Louis Quatorze, for sure, Jamie," he said.