THE CHEESE STANDS ALONE CHAPTER 3: HEY DIDDLE DIDDLE
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I should go on record, here at the very beginning, saying that I don't believe that there is such a thing as nonfiction. The acts of remembering, as well as, creative writing are intrusive, altering what happened, sometimes subtly and sometimes entirely, most often in purely unintentional ways. I leave it to you to separate the true from the real. Some of the experiences are based on events that actually happened (to me) and some of them are re-imagined. Do not attempt to reenact or recreate any event described in the text of this or other chapters. Please remember that ordinary human decency as well as maturity requires good judgment and the ability to distinguish illegal acts described in literary fiction from the reality of responsible human behavior.
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CHAPTER 3: HEY DIDDLE DIDDLE
Just then Billy, who had been kneeling down prowling through junk Peter's father had stored away in the lower locker of an old cabinet next to the shed door, stood back up with a Polaroid camera in hand. He eyed it confused, "Peter, what are you doing with this old relic?"
I looked across the storage room as Billy held it up for me to see. "My Dad never throws anything away," I explained.
"Does it work?" Billy grinned, and I knew he was up to no good.
"I guess," I answered. Truthfully I wasn't sure if it would work or not. Just because my father kept stuff around, didn't necessarily mean it was in working condition.
"He have any film?"
I wasn't sure. I thought I had seen some Polaroid film behind a counter in my Dad's store while I was cleaning up. Who knew how long it had been there. "Think so," I said, "But who knows how old it is. May not be any good."
"Go get it," Billy said.
By then we were both had our shorts back on. Knowing I'd live to regret this moment, I slipped on my shirt, then looked down at the front of it, remember how Billy had wiped my cum off his fingers onto my shirt. The dust had stuck to my cum, making a mess on the front of my shirt. I slipped on my shoes and then walked back up to the store.
There were several packs of Poloroid film right where I remembered. They were sun faded and dusty. If nobody had bought them by now, I doubted anyone would. I wasn't even sure they were still any good. And I wasn't sure if we could even still get Polaroid film. I shoved the two boxes in the pockets of my shorts and made my way back to the shed. I grabbed a broom and a duster just in case my Dad was watching, and then headed back for the shed where Billy was waiting for me.
Billy waited impatiently as I gently pulled the Polaroid film from my pockets. He tore open the packaging and slipped the cartridge into the camera, then clicked the button to dislodge the protective cardboard shield that protected the film while I was being loaded into the camera. Without warning he snapped a picture of my face and we watched as it automatically slid out and started, very slowly, to develop.
I thought about how my parents used to wave developing pictures in the air like a fan, and wondered if that really did help it to develop faster. In a few seconds my face formed, a fuzzy and as grainy as any Poloroid picture I ever saw, but nevertheless clear enough to detail my scruffy chin and the strange mud-stained handprint on the front of my shirt. I had a look on my face like I had just walked out of a special ed classroom. Billy laughed, and announced that it was a keeper for sure. He then told me that my second dare would be finishing up the cartridge by posing for nine naked pictures.
"No way!" I said, and I know my mouth actually dropped open, and Billy told me I looked just like that kid in that "Home Alone" movie that had just come out the year before.
"Don't be a chicken-shit!" Billy laughed. "What if we both get a turn with the camera?" Then he pointed to the camera, "the film in the camera is for you," then he picked up the second pack I had brought out to the shed, "and this pack could be for me when it gets to be my turn. These are for us to play with."
After a few minutes just standing there thinking about it, I finally agreed and stripped naked. He spent a few minutes getting me into a pose where I was standing with my back against a crate with my arms up holding onto an old bicycle hanging down from a wooden beam. "Hold it," he said, "don't move," then he went back and stood there focusing the camera, then said, "wait, wait" and came back over to me and tickled my dick until I was hard as a rock and standing straight up. Then went back and grabbed up the camera.
Once the flash went off I realized that Billy had taken a Polaroid of me, completely naked, with my small boner fully erect. I blinked and walked over to stand next to him to watch the photo develop. In a few seconds there I was, buck naked, with my nude body, pits and pubic patch, and my small dick exposed for the world to see. I felt as exposed, and I had a bad feeling about it.
In a moment of weakness I grabbed for the picture. I caught a hold of one corned of the picture, but he managed to pull it out of my fingers and back away from me.
"You have to learn to trust me, Peter." He laughed, then tried to fashion a serious expression, but his smile kept leeching through. "Look by the end of today we will both have a set of pictures of each other. It's just your turn first. Okay?"
I hesitated.
"Remember what I told you?" Billy asked, "We promise each other that these picture never see the light of day. Now stop being a jerk!" He smirked, "I know you wanna take pictures of me!" then faked a couple of cheesy modeling poses, "But first, you still have 8 more pictures to go."
"Can I see how that one came out?" I asked.
"Yes," Billy said, "Later, after we get all the pictures you can look at them one at a time." He stared at me for a few seconds, then told me to get up on the crate.
He posed me on the crate, instructing me to get my face as close to my dick as I could while I jerked off, then positioned himself to my side and took another profile shot of me jerking off. He let me watch that picture develop, warning me that any more attempts to steal a photo would count as ground for him to post the one he already had of me. I watched as it slowly developed. It was a side view of my face, but there was no doubt that it was me. It looked like I was trying to suck my dick, and getting pretty close, but there was no way I would ever get that close. Funny how pictures make things look different than they really are.
In the next pose he had me lean over the crate and play with my butt. Just before he snapped the photo he called to me so that I craned my head around to see what he wanted. Of course that's the moment he snapped the picture insuring my face was clearly visible again.
In the fifth picture he got a real close up picture of my dick, fully erect, then did just about the same thing in the next one, except he had me hold up a ruler next to it. We kind of got in an argument because the way he had me holding the ruler, loose instead of bone pressed, it made my look like I was a little under three inches instead of close to three and a half. "This ain't right!" I complained. "You make me look like I only got about 2 1/2 inches instead of 3 1/2 inches."
"The ruler doesn't lie," he said, and snapped the sixth picture.
I watched it develop and sure enough, from the angle he took the picture it looked like I was right at 2 1/2 inches. I could feel my face burn with embarrassment, and wondered why he did that.
"It really bugs you doesn't it?" Billy asked.
"Yeah," I admitted.
"It shouldn't." Billy said, trying to encourage me. "I like your dick. I like the way it sticks straight up like that. And its cool the way your skin moves when you jerk off too." He laughed and patted me on the back. "It ain't the length of your pencil, Pete, it's how you sign your name!" Then his expression changed and he went back over to the cabinet and came back with a cup full of old pens.
"Here," he said, laying one of the photos down on the crate in front of me, sign your name and put today's date. That way there's no doubt about the picture.
"C'mon, Billy." I said, "Anyone old enough to hold a mouse can doctor a photograph these days."
"Yeah, an electronic picture, maybe, but not a Polaroid on Polaroid film. No negative. Nothing to doctor!"
I signed the six photos. But mostly I was really hating the close up of my dick next to the ruler. My dick was already about three inches shorter than average according to surveys I had seen on the internet. The way that picture made it look, anyone seeing it would think I had a micropenis! Holy bat shit!
Finally he handed me the first picture he had taken of me, the one of me standing against the crate and holding up the bicycle. It was a little bent on the edges, but honestly, I thought it was kind of hot. Maybe the best picture anyone had ever taken of me in a pornographic kind of way. It looked a lot like a professional picture, except it wasn't. I smiled as I signed it, then picked it up and stared at it a little longer, letting the tip of my forefinger trace along the photographic line that separated the white rim from the picture itself.
He told me to jerk off for me next couple of pictures, and got two pretty clear pictures of me shooting my load onto my chest. I saw what he meant about my resemblance to the "Home Alone" kid. And it wasn't the last time someone would joke about my funny fuck face.
Then Billy turned to me and said, "Okay Petey-boy, get down there on your knees and kiss my boner."
I sighed, felt the heat rising to my face, but didn't protest, and the next thing I knew I was kneeling in the dust in between Billy's hairy legs. Even though I had just cum, my dick was already standing at full attention again. The idea of sucking Billy Jakes again got me totally boned. I was waiting for my heart to stop racing, trying to avoid the appearance of being too eager. The fact that Billy was asking me to give him a second blow-job told me that something went right the first time.
"Please, Billy," I said, slowly bringing the head of his cock closer to my lips as if I didn't want to do this. I was still a little nervous about his negative reaction to my having swallowed his cum earlier.
"Do it!" he said, and smiled like he saw right through me, so I took his hard dick out of his shorts, and began kissing it. I wrapped my hand around the base of his cock and paused, wondering again if would keep his word about not showing anyone the pictures he was taking of me. I was about to ask him when a drop of precum appeared from his piss slit and caught my attention. I licked at it with the tip of my tongue and squeezed the shaft for more.
The smell of Billy's crotch and balls, barely an inch away from my nose was irresistible. Staring at his erection I felt an inner heat, a sense of well being like you only get when you know in your heart you're doing something so right. It was a feeling so strong, so powerful that it would forever more define who I was and what I was. I think that was the moment in my life when I knew, for sure, that I was gay, and that I was in love with another boy! No doubt, this was the defining moment of my adolescence. For the first time I knew exactly who I was, what I was, and what I wanted.
Billy asked me to look at up him and . . . Flash! "I thought you might like a picture with my dick in your mouth," Billy said, then I started to get up, but Billy told me to stay down and keep going. "We still got one more picture to take," he smirked, and looked down at me as I started sucking his dick for the second time that day.
I made a face back at him, but truthfully I wanted nothing more than to smell him, lick him, bury my face in his crotch, and take his hairy balls in my fingers. I wanted to kiss the tip of his dick and run my tongue up and down and all around the shaft of his curved circumcised dick.
I wanted to make his precum surge again, taste it again, and swallow it again. I wanted to feel his big bent shank pass between my lips, to feel his warm spooge squirting into my mouth. I wanted Billy again, more than anything. I wanted his cock in my mouth more than I wanted to breathe. But I sure didn't want him to think I wanted it.
Then he pushed his dick forward between my lips and started fucking my mouth, holding my head in place with one hand, and holding the camera in the other. I can't even begin to describe the effect his big dick sliding between my lips, the silky smooth head of his bent shaft grazing the roof of my mouth, the strong taste of his oozing precum, was having on me.
Then Billy started to get more than a little forceful again, plunging his cock all the way in and out of my mouth. Because of its bend and thickness, it filled my mouth and the head kept sliding into the back of his throat. This time I took it a little better, but still ended up gagging. I concentrated, and was able to keep on taking his thrusts despite the sensation. I grabbed hold of his hips with both hands, to avoid being knocked over as Billy sped up the pace of his brawny thrusts into my mouth. He ordered me to pull my mouth away when he came, saying he wanted to see himself shoot his load into my wide open mouth, so bobbing my head to meet each thrust, I felt his dick swell and his ball-sack tighten, then readied my mouth for what I knew would be another huge load of his seed.
He came like a fucking geyser. Forceful spurts of rich warm cream spewed into my mouth in a flood of quick successive eruptions and . . . Flash! I didn't even care that he had just taken a close up of himself shooting on my face and into my mouth, with his dick in the foreground exploding. With my mouth wide open I could feel each spurt landing hot and hard on my tongue and face.
I was able to really taste his hot teen spirit this time - the strong and aromatic, musky, salty, pungent taste. I swallowed again as his next spurts landed across my face and in my hair. Billy's spasms and the taste of his cum pushed me past the point of no return, and seconds after Billy began shooting, I pumped out another load onto the floor. One shot landed on Billy's foot, so I know he knew I was cumming again too.
After it was over I looked up at Billy. All my pretense had dissolved. We both knew the truth which was as plain as the cum on my chin and the throbbing erection between my legs.
"When you swallowed my cum." Billy asked, "Did you like it?"
"I'm sorry, Billy. Don't be mad."
"Mad? I'm not mad, Petey." Billy reached down and picked up my shirt again, using it to wipe his load off my face, and my load off his foot. "I like the way you suck my dick. And I want you to do it again." He looked at me, and a serious expression crept across his face, "But you have to be honest with me Peter, are you queer for me?"
I hesitated for a long time. I knew he already knew the truth, and that if I lied to him now, it would just be . . . Well, we would both know I was lying. At last I took a deep breath and admitted it, "Yeah, Billy. I am."
He grinned broadly, and kneeled down next to me. "You know I'm not queer, Peter. But I have never felt like this before. Last night I jerked off twice thinking about how you shot your load when I put your hand on my wood in the theater, and then again when we were wrestling in my room. It's pretty hot thinking about you're so turned on to me that you pop your cork practically every time I touch you!"
"I was afraid you would hate me if you found out." I confessed.
"Truthfully, Petey, I'm not sure exactly how I feel. I just know I really like it when you take my load. And it makes me feel all powerful that you are so turned on to me. Look, I've been with two girls before, and it didn't feel anything like what happened today." He snorted, "Petey, you could suck the chrome off a trailer hitch." That felt good. Real good. And then he said it, "I guess I owe Troy a 'Thank You!' don't ya think?"
He could have gone all day without bringing that up. I couldn't really look him in the eye after that, so I just looked down at the puddles of cum I had shot into the dust between my feet.
Billy wiped any remaining spooge off his dick and balls then slapped my shirt across my left shoulder. "I bet you won't ever wash that shirt again will you?" He laughed and reached down and rubbed the rope of his spooge laying across the top of my head into my hair.
And Billy was so right. All these years later I still have that shirt hanging at the back of my closet, a souvenir of my first love. I started to throw it away about a dozen times, but every time something stopped me. I think it was the smell of him. Sometimes I take it out of the plastic garment bag protecting it and I can still smell the scent of him if I close my eyes and inhale deeply. I have jerked off more than a few times in my life, remembering that afternoon with Billy. And now I think it might be time again, with these memories so fresh in my mind, to pay it another visit.