The Queer Road
DISCLAIMER: These are fictional stories of teen aged boys in conflict over their sexuality. There are graphic descriptions of sexual activity, mostly homosexual. If you aren't allowed to view such material, stop now. The author retains copyright.
Gold Dick
Buster was the neighborhood bully. He got that nickname because he was an incorrigible child, always in trouble. He was my friend in grade school because he lived nearby, and there was no one else my age. I was always the big kid even in those days, Northern European genes I guess. Buster liked to form a group of kids, even if most were younger than we were, and go on some kind of rampage.
"I smell trouble!" He'd say if we got a group of even three or four together; sometimes it would be a broken window, a flower bed trashed or the garden ornaments stolen, dogs and cats chased or mistreated, and once we turned over an outhouse.
Yeah, this was a long time ago. I got my ass whipped a dozen times because of Buster, but he was fun to be around, always had a plan, always good for a joke, or a story. When we got older the games took on a darker tone, Buster showed a sadistic side, and I think it was because his dad was that way. When I got whipped, Buster got beaten. Sometimes he'd miss school, and several times I'd be with him right when the phone would ring with a report of our recent mischief. His dad worked for the street department, and he'd be sitting in his work clothes, dirty and tired. He'd answer the phone and I could see him cloud up listening to what we'd done, then send me home. It was ugly.
Buster and I were about fourteen the last time we rampaged together. It was just the two of us on a Saturday afternoon and we'd been to a movie. We were about half home when Buster saw a kid walking ahead of us, Murray Gold. Murray's dad owned a dime store in town, and they lived well. Murray was coming back from his piano lesson carrying a sheaf of music and sort of skipping down the street in his own world, probably singing a song he'd just learned at his lesson. He was our age, but skinny and anything but athletic like Buster and I were.
"Look, that Gold kid. Let's take him!" Buster said, excited to be leading another expedition.
"OK!" I said, the follower as usual. It hadn't occurred to me yet that without me to back him up, Buster wasn't that much of a threat to most kids. He could have handled Murray though. We started running and quickly caught poor hapless Murray, who dropped his music and made a futile attempt at running. I grabbed his arm.
"No! Wait, what do you guys want?"
I held him, though I felt no malice toward him. There was no anti-semitism in our town, at least not that Buster or I knew about. Murray was just a kid to mistreat, someone vulnerable at the wrong place and the wrong time.
"In here," Buster said, pushing through an overgrown hedge into the yard of an abandoned house. Murray struggled but I had him tight. I pushed him through and we followed Buster up the steps and through the open door.
The house hadn't been lived in for several years, and there were papers and trash all around. Buster hadn't found the windows yet, because they were mostly intact. Once inside we just walked around looking at the litter, and I relaxed my hold on Murray. He made no attempt to run.
"Not a very good housekeeper," Murray commented while kicking through a pile of dirty towels and rags.
"Look at this!" Buster exclaimed, pulling a box out of a closet. It held hundreds of old photographs, mostly old family pictures but there were some of a guy in uniform from a war long ago, probably World War I. And, there were some French postcards.
"Wow!" Buster exclaimed as he found the first postcard, a nude woman with big saggy breasts and a smile. We gathered around, throwing the family pictures aside to get to the French ones. There were about half a dozen. "You think these are whores?"
"What're whores?" I asked.
"You're dumber than him," Buster said. "Murray, what's a whore?"
"That's a woman who does it for money," Murray said quickly, leaning over to get a better view.
Then we turned up the last picture. There was a man in this picture, and it never would have made it through the postal system. His erect penis was halfway into the mouth of a woman who kneeled at his feet. We were shocked, silenced. I'd never seen anything like it, and my dick was hard in an instant.
"Whoa! A suck job, wow look at her go on it."
"That's a whore," Murray said.
"Don't have to be a whore. Girls do that shit all the time," Buster said, pushing Murray away, not letting him be the expert.
"I don't know any that do," I said, wishing I were alone so I could pull by dick out and beat it.
We looked at the picture for several minutes, commenting on the women and wishing we had one there with us right then. Then Buster got mean again.
"I think it's time we had some trouble here. Bobby, grab Gold. I've got an idea."
"Wait, guys. Don't, maybe I could find some more pictures like that," Murray said as I grabbed his arm again. We were at the back of a big old abandoned house, and it was on a big lot behind overgrown bushes and trees. Murray was at our mercy. "Make him kneel down. Let's see if Murray likes to suck," Buster said.
I twisted Murray's arm behind him, hard, and he dropped to his knees. We'd never done anything like this to anyone and I assumed Buster was going to threaten Murray for awhile and then extract some money or a promise to get something for us to let him go. Murray's eyes were wide with fear, but he didn't struggle because I went down with him still twisting his arm.
"No! I'll tell," Murray said. Big mistake.
"Tell everyone you sucked my dick? I'll bet you keep this all a big secret, Murray. I'll bet if we mention it Monday at school you'll deny it." Buster pulled out his dick.
I'd seen his dick a few times when we pissed off a bridge or though the open window of a parked car, but I'd never seen it hard. I'd never seen anyone's dick hard except that guy in the picture. Buster wasn't kidding at all, and he shoved his dick right at Murray's face. Murray dodged his head to the side and Buster rubbed dick over his cheek and forehead.
"I hear guys get to liking dicks if they try it. Try it Murray, you might like it."
Murray struggled, but I had his arm and was bigger and stronger. Plus, being on his knees left him no leverage to try to break free. I pushed him toward Buster. I was astounded when Buster's dick slid into Murray's mouth. It was just the head at first, but once in Buster pushed forward and more slid in. Murray gagged and renewed his struggle. He pulled off.
"You bite me and I'll beat you up and send you home naked," Buster warned, mean now and determined. He pushed his dick back at Murray.
"I'm not a queer!" Murray pleaded.
"I don't care!" Buster said, sliding between me and Murray so his body could push Murray into the corner of the room. I let go of Murray's arm and he started to rise. Buster grabbed his other arm and twisted, Murray howled as he dropped back onto his knees. Buster now stood above him with Murray's right arm bent at the elbow and twisted back over his own shoulder. "Now suck!"
I was out of it now, and glad to be. If Murray did tell I could say I let him go. Buster pushed him further back into the corner, his body blocked my view of Murray, but I could hear him coughing and gagging again. Buster began to pump his hips slowly, apparently working his dick in and out of Murray's mouth. Murray continued to choke and sob. I stepped into the other room, ashamed.
"Let him go, Buster," I said, without much conviction.
"He's almost done," Buster said. Now I just heard sucking and looked around the corner. Buster's hips were into an unrestrained rhythm as he leaned into Murray, his weight supported by his right arm while his left held Murray still. Murray's head was against the wall in the corner, he was immobile as Buster's dick pistoned in and out of his mouth. His eyes were wild, but he seemed resigned to his fate, sort of like I felt the first time I rode a rollercoaster, just holding on until the bottom of that first terrible drop. I stepped back into the other room, ashamed to be here, giving them some privacy. I heard Buster moan and then Murray choked again and began to cough. Buster stepped back into the doorway and I saw his dick, slimy and still hard. Murray began to spit and cough. He was free now. It was over.
"Good job Murray. Be a good boy and I might not make you do it again," Buster said, subdued now that he'd had his climax. He wiped off his dick with a handkerchief and stuffed it back into his pants.
Murray stood, wiping jism from his hair, cleaning his face off with his handkerchief. He was shaking but otherwise seemed remarkably composed. He seemed to know the storm was over. There was slime all over the floor in the corner where the act had been completed. I was in shock, and still hard.
"You want me to hold him for you?" Buster asked, like he was offering me a third of his Three Musketeers bar.
"No."
"Thanks," Murray said.
We left the house and Buster never mentioned it again. A few weeks later, again on a Saturday, I was walking home from the movie alone and I saw Buster and Murray walking together. I thought it odd, they were hardly friends, but the turn to my house came before they got to the old house and I didn't follow. Over the next year I learned to masturbate, and my fantasies as I arced my young seed into the toilet or into the bushes behind the garage were of the naked women I'd seen on the postcards and the budding titties of the girls in my 9th grade class. My dick grew and I noticed boys looking at it in the showers after football practice. It was a source of pride, to be a big boy with a big dick and I took my time dressing. Then something happened that added a twist.
Eyes squinting coming out of the Saturday matinee I saw Murray Gold half a block ahead of me. He turned into an alley that led away from the main street and toward the back of his father's store on the next block. I thought I'd give him a scare. I ran back the other way and around the block. When he came out of the narrow part of the alley between two taller buildings, I was waiting.
"Hi Murray," I said, nonchalantly chewing on a straw, leaning against the side of a building.
"Bobby!" Was all he said, eyes darting to the side looking for an opening.
I stepped into the center of the alley, blocking his way. His fear was thrilling, for the first time I knew how Buster had felt when we bullied the kids in our neighborhood. It was a guilty pleasure, but I intended nothing other than a bluff and then a big laugh. I thought we might even go over to Gold's store and buy some candy.
"You want what Buster wanted?" He asked, no longer looking for an exit, now looking behind him in the alley.
"Uhh," was all I could get out.
"Not here. Please, not here. There's a place over there," and he pointed to the cotton warehouses along the railroad tracks.
"OK." I stepped back and he turned toward the tracks.
"Just don't make me do it where anyone can see," Murray said as we walked. It was open and he'd never outrun me if he tried. "There's a good place in that second warehouse. Nobody ever goes in there."
Perpendicular to the main street was a street that ran along the railroad right of way, and there were half a dozen cotton warehouses where the bales were stored while buyers and farmers dickered over prices. It was late fall and the harvest was over, they would be mostly full. Murray walked by the first warehouse, then ducked down to duck walk under the second. They were built up on concrete blocks because the river was across the tracks and occasionally there were floods. I followed him and in a half a dozen steps he found a hole in the floor and pulled himself up.
Dusty and dark, it smelled strongly of cotton dust. Enough light came in between the rough boards to see. There were dozens of 480 lb cotton bales, wrapped in burlap. "Over there, that's where Buster made me do it."
So, Buster had been back for seconds, or thirds. He'd never said anything to me about it. I followed Murray. He climbed over the first bale and sat down on the second. He looked expectantly up at me as I climbed over the bale. I didn't know what to do. No problem, Murray did.
"Take it out," he whispered.
I pulled my dick out, it was flaccid. I shook it halfheartedly, scared of this whole encounter. Murray put his hand on it, warm and soothing.
"Bigger than Buster," he said, looking up at me. I felt that power feeling and my dick stirred. Murray pulled the foreskin back, and it plumped up more. "Pull your pants down. Nobody will come in here."
I opened my belt and unsnapped the rest of my fly; he pulled my jeans down over my buttocks, and then carefully slipped my jockey shorts down. The feeling of my shorts going down and the air on my bare butt got me the rest of the way hard. My dick is sort of flat, being wider than it is thick. Murray was kneeling now with his back against a bail while I stood between two bales. He held my hard dick and slowly pumped it a couple times, then popped it into his mouth. His tongue swirled over the head and his lips pulled my foreskin back. It felt so good my knees buckled and I almost fell. He wrapped his hands behind my butt to steady me, and kept them there. My dick slowly disappeared into Murray Gold's mouth until it was all gone, and his nose was in my pubic hair, then it slid out about a third and he breathed through his nose a couple times then slid it back in. He deep throated my dick for a couple minutes then pulled off, licked it up and down and pumped it with his hand while he looked up at me.
"Our secret?"
"Oh, yeah!" I whispered.
He went back down on it, only half way this time, and started bobbing. He caught my balls swinging below the action and just held them.
"Don't," I said, pulling back. I found that too sensitive.
He resumed the bobbing now with his hands around my butt. He increased the suction and every third or fourth stroke would produce a slurp or suck sound. This went on for two or three minutes, then he pulled back enough to get his hand around the base of my cock and pumped with his hand and his mouth. Without warning I got my climax. Murray must have known, because his hands were tight around my butt and when I lost control he squeezed himself against me and my cock went off deep in his mouth. I was overwhelmed, nothing in my imagination had prepared me for the intensity of what happened in that cotton shed. I felt it all the way back to my asshole as my semen squirted out, and I let Murray take it. I buckled and sagged back on the bale behind me, with Murray still sucking my dick the whole way down. I spread my legs and he climbed me, hands kneading my butt, mouth full of my dick and cum.
When I was done I pushed him off. He stood up and spit into the space between the bales across the isle. I saw a bulge in his pants, but we didn't say anything as we crawled back through the hole in the floor and went our ways.