Date: Tue, 08 Jan 2002 05:37:31 +0000
From: Java Biscuit <javabiscuit@hotmail.com>
Subject: Willow, chapter two

This is a story involving teen/boy, adult/youth, 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's not meant to
encourage unsafe, unprotected sex, or to condone sex
with minors. These people figments of my imagination.

Feedback: javabiscuit@hotmail.com

Willow ~ chapter two

by Biscuit


I don't think Willow ever would have talked to me, let
alone come out to see me on the beach, if Leon hadn't
made him do it. They were still new to each other then
and Leon was trying to get Willow to act more like a
kid. He basically pushed him out and told him to go
play. Playing was a shaky concept for Willow.

I must have cruised the stretch of beach in front of
their cottage twenty times that day, hoping to see him.
Leon  told me later that it seemed like I was there
every time he looked out the window. He teased Willow
about me, knowing I was out there looking for him.
They were coming and going from the street side all
day, moving their stuff in from the van, shopping and
getting the cottage set up.

It was near dusk, and I was back on my patrol of the
beach front after dinner, when the cottage door
opened, and Willow came out. He looked at me and
started slowly making his way down the stairs.

I was stunned, after all my lurking, to have him
appear and head right for me. He stopped about three
feet away with a look of pure, grim determination on
his face.

His stick straight hair, cut across his brows and right
at his chin, lifted like silk in the breeze. I saw that he
had tiny gold hoops in his ears.

"Were you looking for me?" he asked. Whatever I
expected it wasn't his perfect, unaccented English. I
saw him glance over his shoulder and there was Leon
in the doorway, waving at him in a shooing motion.

"Yeah," I said. "Kind of. Want to walk around?"

He nodded, and looked at me as if he was thinking,
let's get this over with. I was so pathetic, so smitten
with him, I didn't even care. I wanted him to like me
but I didn't expect it. To me, especially at first, he
was more like an object I couldn't resist, than a boy
I was trying to befriend.

We ended up wandering around the wet sand of low
tide, looking at junk. When the tide is real low, you
can walk out forever. It gets sticky and muddy the
further out you go, but you can find things. Pieces
of glass that are worn down smooth, sometimes
you'd find an entire bottle that looked frosted. The
light was going but we kept walking. I just liked him
being with me, looking at him. Even his little feet
fascinated me in the blue rubber flip-flops he was
wearing. His toes were round and brown.

He was wearing cotton drawstring pants and a blue
jean jacket. Having heard his voice, he didn't seem
so young to me, just tiny, and beautiful. Thinking of
it now, I wonder again, if I'm right about his age.
Maybe he's telling the truth that he was nine. God
knows he didn't sound any younger than that.

I was trying to think of an excuse to touch him.
I wished he'd fall over so I could pick him up, like
before. Not likely. He was graceful and sure footed.
I think that's partly why it embarrassed him so much
that the dog had knocked him over, made him look
small and weak.

By the time I met Willow, puberty had already hit
me. I was eleven, close to twelve. Pretty young for
it, but my dick didn't know that. It was an unending
source of both wonder and embarrassment for me.
I'd had the big talk from my mom, about how it
was natural and nothing to be ashamed of but she
wasn't the one getting boned up day and night.

Because a breeze blowing the right direction could
give me a hardon, I didn't connect how often I'd had
my hand in my pants, that day, to Willow. Not until
he was bent over in front of me, did I make the
connection between him and the state of my dick.

The way I felt about him didn't seem like a sex thing
until I was staring at his ass, like round peaches in his
pants, and my dick got so hard, so fast, that the rest
of me dimmed, like a brownout.

"Why didn't you bring your dog?" he was asking me.

"What?" I said, stupidly. I started tugging at the fly of
my jeans, trying to point my dick so it wouldn't look
so obvious.

"I'm not afraid of that dog," he said, firmly.

He'd bent over to look at something shiny in the mud
and was glancing over his shoulder, maybe to see if I
believed him about the dog. But what he saw was the
hard arch of my dick up my stomach and my guilty
hand right next to it. I saw his eyes take it in and felt
my face get hot, praying he was too young to know
what it meant.

He knew, all right.

What I had no way of knowing, was that my hardon
would put Willow at ease.

He was insecure as hell when it came to playing
games or having a friend. Being knocked over and
scared by a big dog had shamed him, terribly. But
me getting boned up looking at his ass put me on
right square on his turf.

When he stood up, with the wet quarter he'd found
in the sand, his little shoulders were relaxed and his
mouth wasn't tight. He was looking at me, coolly, one
fingertip brushing the hair back from the side of his
face. Somehow, in that moment I stopped being the
older kid and he stopped being a kid at all.

"A quarter," Willow said, holding it out to show me,
then he sent the coin spinning up into the air, and
caught it.

"Heads or tails?" he asked, holding it in the trap of
his hands.

"Tails," I said, to say something.

He peered at it and dropped it in his jacket pocket.

"You win," he said.

He walked up close, inches in front of me. He stood
about as high as my ribs. So perfect, so incredibly
pretty in the last of the light. Then I felt the back of
his hand rub against my dick, up and down.

"What do you think you're doing?" I put my hand
over his but didn't pull it off of me.

"Don't you like it?" Like wasn't the word. Willow
was a boy who could bring grown men to their knees.
Me, he pulverized, instantly.

He started using the knobs of his knuckles, working
them up and down me, like he knew where every hot
nerve was and was hitting them one by one. I didn't
die, even though I felt like I should. I lived, looking
down into Willow's coal black eyes, still breathing,
and letting him rub my dick.

I didn't try to answer him. I was so close to shooting
off that every run of his fingers was making my
balls clutch.

God, he was brutal. His other hand moved between
my legs, curling under my tight sac. I reached for
him, pulling his head against my chest, my other
hand falling down his back. My hips were going,
trying to fuck into his little hand. He ground his
palm into the head of my dick and it was over. I
could have powered a small city with the charge
that exploded up from my balls.

Willow pulled away from me, leaving me bent in
half with my hands on my knees, panting for air.
My whole crotch was throbbing and my pants
were flooded.

"If you come back tomorrow," he said, backing
away from me, "bring that dog." He turned and
took off at a run, me staring after him. I couldn't
stand upright, let alone chase him. I watched him
running, shadowy, speeding through the dark. I
could make him out, getting to the steps of his
cottage and see him outlined when the door
opened, against the light.

I took my time getting home, trying to make
sense of it. I'd never seen anyone like Willow
before, never been touched by anyone like he'd
touched me. But there was something. It nagged
at me. For all the strangeness of Willow, there
was something not strange, almost familiar. All
I understood that night was that I'd be getting
up early in the morning and walking down the
beach with the dog.

I did bring Sprinkles to Willow. He got his chance
to show me he wasn't afraid. He'd made me come
in my pants, he'd proved his bravery, and on that
footing he began to allow me to be his friend.

You might think that living in a town where I
had a slew of cousins, I wouldn't have lacked for
friends. My cousins were in school with me. In and
out of school, they kept their distance. When I did
finally make friends in town, none of the Whaite
family's kids weren't among them. That summer,
I really only had Willow.

I know I made it sound like my grandfather was
always there for me, but it wasn't like that. It wasn't
until I was four, or five that he even bothered about
me one way or another. Up until then the Whaites
ignored my mother and me, and we ignored them.
She'd had an affair with my dad. They'd talked about
getting married, but she'd never had any use for his
family. To them, she was flake that they hoped he'd
get over. She'd given me my dad's name, not because
she wanted me to part of that family, just because
he was my dad, and there was nothing else of him
to give me.

I know this story more from hearing it told than
from memory. A summer day, when I was five
(according to her, four, if my Grandfather tells it)
she took me to the wharf to look at the fishing boats.
She always emphasized, in her telling, that she wasn't
looking for Manny Whaite, but my grandfather was
there, out on the deck of Belle Yvette. He tells it
that she'd brought me to show me off to him. Both
of them say that he saw us and was so moved by how
much I looked like my dad, that he called out to her
and asked her to bring me to him.

I became my grandfather's pet and the rest of the
Whaite family hated me for it. They were as upset
as my mom was when he named his boat after me.
Though, of course, for a different reason. There
were plenty of boy cousins of mine, and other
children of his own that he could have named a boat
for. Maybe he did it to piss them off. I think he did
it because he loved me. He loved me with a passion
that bordered on what Willow and Leon shared, and
that may be the real reason I was never tempted to
reveal their secret to anyone.

My grandfather never touched me like Leon did
Willow. It was never like that between us. But it
wasn't exactly foreign to me when I saw Willow
in bed with Leon.

Usually Willow came out of the cottage when I
showed up out on the beach. But there came a
morning when it was raining hard and I was
getting soaked and worried that Willow wouldn't
come out. I went up to knock on the door and it
wasn't shut tight. It swung open when I touched it.

And I saw them. Willow on his knees in bed, his
hands wrapped around Leon's big hard dick. It
looked miles long in his small hands.

I'd seen one as big as Leon's before. My grand-
father's. I'd felt it. Not in my hands like that. I had
never wrapped my fists around it like Willow was
doing. I'd only caught glimpses of it, and felt it
rub against me. My eyes were glued to Leon's, so
huge and swollen looking in Willow's fingers.

My grandfather was almost the physical opposite
of Leon, except for that cock. Manny Whaite was
under six feet tall. His hair was the darkest shade
of brown, even in his sixties. His hands were big
and rough, so cracked that sometimes my hair
would get caught when he stroked my head.

"Look what the cat dragged in," Leon laughed
when he saw me standing there staring at them.