Tim

Justin: Chapter 1

This story is a continuation of the story of Kevin Foley, Rick Mashburn, and their "sons," Tim Murphy and Kyle Goodson, that started in "Tim."  It is about gay men and gay boys, and it contains descriptions of sex.  The sex is never intergenerational.  If you are offended by descriptions of gay sex, or if the law in your area forbids you to read them, please exit the story.  Otherwise, I hope you enjoy it.  I appreciate feedback, and you can send it to me at brew_drinker23@yahoo.com.

--Brew Maxwell

Justin

Chapter 1

(Tim's Perspective)

Kyle and I worked at one of his dad's motels the summer after my dad came back from the war in Afghanistan, and the jobs were pretty good.  I made ten dollars an hour as pool boy, and Kyle made the same amount working concessions on the beach.  The only difference was he tended to get better tips than I did.

"It's because I'm cuter than you are, Tim.  Face reality, dude," he had said.  

I knew he was just teasing me, but I also wouldn't argue with how cute he was.  At sixteen and a half, he was five feet, ten inches, and he weighed about 170 pounds.  A lot of his weight was muscle, and he was built more like a football player than a runner.  He had been a standout on our high school's cross country track team when he was a freshman and sophomore, and he planned to run track his junior year, too.  He was drop-dead gorgeous, and I wasn't the only one who thought that, either.  Just because I was his boyfriend didn't mean I couldn't be objective about him.  We both had awesome tans from being out in the sun all day, and we both had our hair bleached light blond so it would contrast with our skin.  My hair was sort of a dark blond anyway, but his was dark brown without the bleach.

Kyle and I had been boyfriends since January.  Even though I had only turned fifteen in May, we got along great.  In fact, we pretty much knew we were in love.  We spent a lot of time together, but we also spent a lot of time with our friends Philip and Ryan, who were also sixteen, and our "big brothers," Kevin and Rick, who were both twenty-five.  All of us were gay, and Philip and Ryan, and Kevin and Rick were couples, like us.  We had a lot of straight friends, too, but I think we all felt most at home with each other.  Kevin and Rick were out to everyone, and they had even had a marriage ceremony and wore wedding rings.  We weren't that brave, and we really didn't see the need to be, yet.  We all knew Kyle and I would probably do it eventually, but it wouldn't happen while we were still in high school.  My dad and Kyle's parents were 100% cool with our being gay and being a couple, too, and that really helped.  

One of my jobs as pool boy was to sell bottles of water and soft drinks to the people who hung around the pool.  The motel was right on the beach of the Gulf of Mexico, and, quite naturally, a lot of people went down there.  But the sand and salt water can get pretty old, so most people who stayed at the motel spent at least some time at the pool, too.  If I had been interested in eying up girls, I would have had lots of opportunities in that job.  I checked out the guys, though, and some of them were enough to put a pretty good tent in my bathing suit.  Kyle wore a Speedo a lot of the time on the beach, but I preferred trunks.  Kyle and I took a shower together every afternoon when we got off work, and his Speedo was usually damp from all the juice he oozed all day long.  

One day in mid-June Kyle came up to the pool from the beach.  We usually ate lunch together, but it was still about an hour early for that.  I was surprised to see him when he walked over to where I was sitting, near the concessions.

"Hey, what's up," I asked.

He plopped down next to me and lit a cigarette.  He didn't smoke much, but he did like to smoke a few every day.

"I just got a call from Herman," he said.  Herman was the motel manager.

"What did he want?"

"It was a pretty damn strange request.  He asked if I would mind going to get some fried chicken for one of the guests."  That motel didn't have a restaurant, so all the guests had to eat out every meal

"So are you going to do it," I asked.

"Well, yeah.  Why not?"

"No reason.  Can I go with you?"

"That's why I came up here.  To see if you wanted to go," he said.

"Do you know what the guy wants," I asked.

"Yeah, Herman told me.  I'm supposed to pay for it, and he'll pay me back when I take it to him," he said.

"You know what?  I'll bet it's that old guy with the walker.  I saw his family pull out earlier this morning, so maybe he's hungry and can't go anywhere to eat."

"I'll bet that's it," Kyle said.  "He's a nice old guy, so I don't mind doing it."

We drove to the fried chicken place.  Instead of going through the drive-thru, we went inside to order.  When we got a whiff of the food, we decided it wasn't too early for us to have lunch, so we ordered the buffet for each of us.  We spent the next twenty minutes or so eating our lunch, and then we got the food for the old guy.  I was glad I had thought to grab my tee shirt before I left the pool.  They might not have served us if we had been bare chested.  Kyle's shirt covered his Speedo, so he looked like he could have been naked down below.  That would have been totally cool, but he wasn't.

When we got back to the motel, we parked in Kyle's usual spot, and we took the food up to the room that Kyle had been given.  It would have been strange for somebody on a walker to be on the second floor, but I didn't think of that then.  We knocked on the door.

"Come in.  It's open," a voice said.  It sounded more like a kid our age than an old guy, but we didn't comment.

When we opened the door, Kyle and I got the shock of the week, if not of our lives.  Sitting on the bed was a boy who looked like he was about sixteen, naked.  There were no sheets or pillowcases on the bed, and the curtains had been taken down, too.  The TV was on what looked like a movie, and the rest of the room was completely bare.  There were no suitcases or clothes thrown around or anything to make you think people were staying there.  The kid had some kind of metal bar between his ankles about a foot apart, and his ankles were attached to the bar by what looked to me like steel handcuffs.  

"Oh, dude.  I'm so sorry, man.  We'll go," Kyle said.  "Shit," he said to me, "Herman gave me the wrong damn room number."

"That's okay.  Come in.  Please come in," the kid said.

"Are you sure, man," Kyle asked.

"Yeah.  It's okay.  I don't mind.  Did you bring me some food?"

"Yeah.  I'll just set it down out here, and you can get it later, after we're gone," Kyle said.

"No, man.  Bring it in, please."  The guy was sort of pleading with us.

"Maybe he's crippled and can't walk," I said.  "Did you see that thing on his ankles?"

"Yeah, maybe you're right.  I feel really weird doing it, though.  Come in with me," Kyle said.

"Okay," I said.  

Kyle pushed the door back, and we walked in.  The place had a really nasty odor.  It wasn't shit or puke or anything, though.  It was just nasty.  

"Oh, thanks, guys," the boy said.

We walked over to the bed.  I really wanted to check him out good, but I was afraid he'd get pissed off if he caught me looking.  I figured Kyle was thinking the same thing.  That boy was really nasty, too.  He must have shot his load on himself a bunch of times, and it was all dry on his chest.  He didn't smell good, either, when we got up closer.  He smelled like somebody who hadn't taken a shower in a week.

"Man, I really appreciate this," he said.

Kyle handed him the box with the chicken and side orders in it, and he tore it open.  He grabbed a leg and cleaned the bone in one bite.  He ate a wing almost that fast, and then he opened the coleslaw.  He ate three huge mouthfuls of that, and then he dove into the fries.  After he had eaten that much, he slowed down to a more regular speed.

"Shit, I was so fucking hungry," he said.  "I haven't eaten anything since Sunday morning."  It was Wednesday.

"Sit down, guys," he said.

Kyle and I looked at each other, and then we each pulled up a chair and sat down.  When I knew the boy wasn't looking at me, I checked him out.  His penis looked just like Kyle's, circumcised and about as big, and his pubic hair must have been clipped or something.  He had some, but very little.  I could see some dried cum in it, too.  Nasty, I thought.  He had dark blond hair about my natural color, and he was almost pure white.  I figured he hadn't been out in the sun in a long time.  He had gold hoops hanging from each of his nipples, and they looked pretty cool.  I wondered if they hurt having them put in.

"What are you doing here like this," Kyle asked him.

"It's a long story.  I think I've been fucked, is what I think has happened," he said.

"Can you walk," I asked.

"Not very good with this thing on," he said.  "He puts it on me so I can't run away."

"Who does that," Kyle asked.

"My mom's boyfriend," he said.

"Where's your mom," I asked.

"Dead.  I think the son of a bitch beat her to death, but I can't prove it.  He claimed intruders did it, but I put my money on him."  He had finished eating by then, and he had set the carton and bones aside.  "You boys got a smoke I could bum," he said.

Kyle took his pack out of his shirt pocket and handed it, and his lighter, to the boy.

The boy lit a cigarette and took a deep drag.

"Thanks, man," he said.  "I smoked my last one last night."

"Speaking of money," Kyle said, "you owe me seven fifty for the food."

The boy got a funny look on his face, and he checked out both of us from head to toe, like he was just noticing us for the first time.

"Er, I don't really have any money.  That bastard takes everything I earn."

Kyle and I looked at one another, not knowing what to do next.

"But I've got a deal I don't think you can refuse.  How about if I pay you off with a blowjob, one for each of you?"

Kyle and I both got kind of nervous when he said that.

"What do you say, guys?  Huh?  It won't make you queer, and I give great blowjobs," he said.

I saw Kyle begin to smile, and the boy took it that he was seriously thinking about his offer.  He looked at me with a full grin.

"It won't make us queer," Kyle said.

I laughed, and the boy really looked puzzled.

"Are you gay," I asked him.

"Yeah.  So what?  Everybody knows gay boys give the best blowjobs, man.  I guarantee I'll give you a better blowjob than your girlfriend, and, if I don't, I'll let you fuck my ass.  Whatcha say?"

"I say we're not interested, man.  What's your name, anyway," Kyle asked.

"It's Justin.  What's yours?"

"Kyle."

"Tim."

"Do you guys work here or something," Justin asked.

"Yeah.  Where do you work," Kyle asked.

"Here and there," he said.  "Mostly in motel rooms like this one, as a matter of fact."

"What do you do in motel rooms," I asked.

"Turn tricks."  He said that as calmly as he might have said, "make the beds."

I thought I knew what that meant, but I wasn't sure.

"You have sex with guys for money," Kyle asked.  I knew he was as shocked at that as I was.

"You got it, Kyle," Justin said.  "Only I don't get to keep any of it.  He keeps me naked all the time like this, and I've got to wear this thing when he's not around."  He grabbed the bar between his ankles when he said that.

"Do you want us to help you run away," I asked.

"I appreciate that, Tim, but it would be just my luck he'd come driving up as I was leaving.  If he caught me, he'd beat me so bad I couldn't even work for a week.  Hell, he might even kill me."

"We can't just leave you here like this, Justin," Kyle said.  "We can call the cops."

"Oh, Jesus, no, Kyle.  Please don't do that, man.  I'm begging you.  Please don't."  Justin looked really worried.  He had a really cute face and a very nice body.  I felt sorry for the poor guy.

"I'm not leaving you here like this, Justin," Kyle said.  "For one thing, this is my dad's motel, and he could get into all kinds of trouble if anything happened to you.  For another, you're in trouble, and I want to help.  How old are you, anyway?"

"How old do I look," Justin asked.  He smiled like he was flirting with Kyle.  He probably went through that age routine pretty often, and he knew how to play it for all it was worth.

"You look like you're sixteen," Kyle said.  "Same age as me.  Am I right?"

Justin thought a few seconds before answering.  "Aw, what they hell.  Yeah, I'm sixteen."

"Where are your clothes and your other things," Kyle asked.

"I don't have any.  At least, not up here.  He keeps a couple of changes of clothes for me in the trunk of his car, but that's all I've got.  I hope he never comes back."

"How long has he been gone," I asked.

"We checked in here Sunday afternoon about five o'clock.  He left right after that to round up some johns, and I haven't seen him since.  Today's Wednesday, ain't it?"

"Yeah.  Wednesday," Kyle said.  Then he said, "Tim, step outside for a minute so I can talk to you."

I stood up to leave, and Justin got a kind of frantic tone in his voice.

"Don't leave, guys.  Please.  Please don't leave me.  I'm scared shitless if you leave."

"We'll be back," Kyle said.

We stepped out onto the covered balcony that connected all of the rooms. 

"Phew.  That guy stinks, Babe," I said. 

"I know," he replied.

"What do you think we should do," I asked him.

"I don't know.  I wish Kevin or Rick was here.  They'd know what to do.  But we can't just leave the guy."

"I know.  Why don't we call them and see if they can come over," I said.

"Good idea."

Kyle tried to reach Rick first, but his office said he was out supervising some landscaping.  He tried his cell phone, but Rick must have had it turned off.  Kyle didn't leave a message for him.  Then he called Kevin's office, and Kevin answered after his secretary put the call through.  Kyle explained where we were and what was going on in very brief terms.  Kevin said he would be there in ten minutes.

When we went back inside, Justin was propped up against the headboard, smoking another cigarette.  He smiled at us.

"Our friend will be here in a few minutes," Kyle said.  "He'll know what to do."

"Who is he," Justin asked, obviously suspicious.

"He's just our friend.  Sort of like our big brother.  You'll like him," I said.

"He ain't a cop, is he," Justin asked.

"No, he ain't a cop.  He's our friend," Kyle said.

Justin spread his knees as far apart as he could get them with the ankle thing on, and his dick flopped against his thigh.  In a second, it started moving by itself, and, before I knew it, he was getting hard.  Seeing him get hard made me, and I'm sure Kyle, too, start to get hard.  I must have blushed noticeably, and Justin smiled at me.

"You want some of this, Tim," he asked seductively.

"Come on, man.  Cut it out, Justin," I said.

"It's just my way of letting you know I think both you guys are hot as hell," Justin said.  That made me blush more.  "We could have some fun together, guys, before your friend gets here.  It won't make you queer."

"Let me get you a towel," Kyle said.  He got up and went into the bathroom.  He came out of there in about ten seconds, empty handed.

"Where the hell are the towels," he asked Justin.

"He took 'em," he said.  "He always does that so I can't leave, even if I jump around in this thing to do it," he said, meaning his ankle thing.  "That's why the sheets and curtains are gone, too."

"How is it you're with this guy," Kyle asked.

"Well, after my mom died, he just kind of took me, I guess.  We stayed living at his trailer, and I just stayed.  I didn't have any place else to go.  He turned me out when I was thirteen."

"Turned you out?  Made you leave," I asked.

"No.  Turned me out to trick," he said.

"He made you start having sex for money when you were only thirteen," I asked.  I'm sure I sounded dumb, but that stuff was all brand new to me.

"Yeah.  Some start younger, but he wanted me to wait until I could shoot cum.  And he wanted me to develop some, too.  He made me work out with weights starting when I was eleven.  You like my muscles?"  He flexed his biceps, and, I had to agree, he was built.

Nobody said anything for a few seconds.

"You guys ever have sex," he asked.

Kyle and I looked at each other.  Then we both said, "Yeah."

"With a girl or a guy or both," he asked.

"Justin, man, you're laying there with a dripping hard-on.  Can we just cool it with the talk about sex?  Okay?"  Kyle sounded a little impatient.

"Are you afraid I'll turn you on, Kyle?  I can see that pole your buddy there is packing.  How about you, dude?  You want some of this?"

"Okay.  That's it.  We're waiting outside for Kevin."

Kyle and I went out onto the balcony and waited.

"He's pretty fucked up," I said.

"No kidding," Kyle said.  "I feel sorry for him, though, you know?  What if that had happened to one of us?  Or Philip?  Or Ryan?  I guess we've been pretty lucky."

"For sure," I said.

We saw Kevin's car pull into the parking lot just then, and we waved him up.

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