Unbeknownst

Caveats:

If sex between someone of the same sex is distasteful to you--STOP! This story is not for you.

If sex between consenting teenagers is distasteful to you--STOP! This story is not for you.

If is illegal in your locale to read this type of story--STOP! There are many other stories from which you can choose.

All names have been changed to protect the innocent and the not so innocent.

Any comments or feedback is welcomed. Send your comments to: agr8catch916@aol.com

Acknowledgements:

I'd like to thank my good friend Tom who helped with editing and gave me encouragement and also for his emotional support as this was a very emotional thing for me to write. Also thanks to Tristam DeJong, a fellow author, for his assistance in getting this published. Please, if you get the chance read Tristam's works at: http://www.xs4all.nl/~johnie/stories/stories.html

Prologue:

This a true story about a two year period in the life of a boy who left a violent and abusive environment at the age of 15. It is a story of in which for the first time in his memory he found caring, happiness, acceptance, friendship and a companion. It is also a time of self-discovery.

In this story I did not linger on or go into great detail of the abuse and sexual molestation as I wanted to focus on the good of the time.

Though this story does contain descriptive sexual encounters, it was not written to be pornographic. It's just what happened.

Now cast your eyes down and I hope you enjoy. --Steven

UNBEKNOWNST By: Steven Keiths--October, 2006

At first I was a little discombobulated as to where I was. I had passed out, fainted. I had walked for I don't know how many hours in the searing heat and had not had any thing to eat for over two days. This leaving home hadn't been well thought out, actually there was no thought at all. I just walked away. Left. Ran away. Not knowing at the time where I was headed or what I would do.

I had had it. I had been beaten and abused for the last time. I'd rather die out here in this scorching hot desert sun than return to that crummy cockroach infested house trailer to where that man would be. I would be damned if I would return to that hellhole of a home. Where that drunken useless excuse for a human being resided with me, my mother, two sisters and three brothers. I was tired of the abuse; I was tired of going hungry; I was tired of constantly living in fear and walking around on eggshells; I was tired of lying in bed at night petrified he would one more time come in drunk and start pounding on me for lord knows what reason. I don't think he needed one. I was tired of having to pack everything up and steal away in the middle of the night as one more time Mr. Wonderful lost his job and we were behind in the rent. I was tired of the long hours walking in the desert and along the roadsides collecting soda bottles to make sure we at least had money for macaroni or peanut butter sandwiches to eat while that asshole hocked and stole what ever he could to keep himself lubricated with booze. I was tired of watching this man's drunken antics, especially, while doing them in front of my younger siblings.

One time he ordered us into the kitchen. "I wanna' show ya' what a real man is" he drunkenly slurred. So, the real man lays his hand on the kitchen counter and proceeds to smash it repeatedly with a ball peen hammer until it was bloody and almost unrecognizable. Now I really didn't care if he was a real man or not. I didn't even care if he smashed every limb and digit on his body. What I abhorred was his forcing my three-year-old sister and the other kids to watch this feat of manliness. This man, had you met him, you'd think was the greatest guy who walked on two feet. He was so smooth and glib that he could sell an ice cube to an Eskimo. No, I will not return to that madness.

My name is Steven and at this time I was 15 years old, second oldest of seven kids. At the time I left home I had a 16-year-old brother who stayed behind in Pennsylvania. We, the remainder, moved out west because Mr. Wonderful convinced my mother we should do so. I didn't want to come but my mother, changed her mind about me staying behind as agreed to at an earlier time. "But Mom," I pleaded, "You said I could stay with Aunt Kay. I don't want to leave here and my friends." "I know, but Bill doesn't think you like him and I really want you to come as I'll need your help while we get settled." Bill thinking I didn't like him was important because? I acquiesced without further commotion to her request. You see, she needed me. I would have drug my balls through ten mile of broken glass to get her approval, attention and recognition. We moved from Pennsylvania the place I had lived for the first 14 years of my life. Leaving all with which I was familiar and accustomed. Leaving my few friends. Leaving my first unbeknownst to me love.

Mr. Wonderful, real name Bill, was correct however, I didn't like him. Maybe it was a sixth sense. Maybe it was because my mother had really bad choices in men. This wasn't her first Mr. Wonderful to whom we were exposed! Her picker was badly broken or in desperate need of repair. She had this thing for drunks. Maybe it was his stupid laugh: He'd get this big toothy grin on his face and "ah,ah,ahah ah, ah," and then sort of snort. That wasn't a laugh. That was much like a four cylinder car engine trying to start. It was so phony. Now, to this point I had no clue as to this man's behavior as he had just started seeing my Mother and was the typical out-to-impress-you-I can-do-no-wrong sort of guy. In the beginning, Bill was very attentive to my mother and my siblings. He was a few years younger than my mother and had never been married nor had ever had kids. Something of which we were always reminded. "Now you know, Bill has never had children of his own, so he is not use to...name anything...So he gets angry if...name anything...". Angry! That wasn't anger. It's called being maniacally enraged. Hell, I was beginning to believe he was the Hulk's brother! So, never having children was license to beat the crap out of them and humiliate them. But the poor guy never had any kids so we were to be understanding and free with our tolerance and forgiveness. I truly do not think three to ten year olds grasped that concept, nor did I for that matter.

...So, there I was out in the desert by Lake Mead. Hungry, healing from the latest bruises inflicted by Mr. Wonderful, and homeless with only the clothes on my back wondering, "Where do I go or what do I do now?" I was not too concerned about my family sending out a search party. My so-called step-father would be reveling in the fact he was rid of bad rubbish. I could be wrong. Maybe he will miss his punching bag! My mother had always said, "If any of you decide to leave don't expect me to come looking for you," and she adamantly added, "You don't ever have to bother coming back". Besides, she was under the spell of Mr. Wonderful and if she had possessed balls, she would have drug them through ten miles of broken glass for that asshole.

Though I was concerned about my brothers and sisters, I felt helpless to do anything. He never seemed to bother them too much as far as hurting them physically. (It's sad when you equate abuse in degrees as to whether it is acceptable or tolerable in its frequency). I was his main target; his whipping boy. In fact, I thought maybe they'd be better off with out me around. I thought maybe I was the problem.

...At that moment I was more concerned about my survival. Though feeling very lightheaded and dizzy and in some pain, I managed to sluggishly and slowly plod my way to the campgrounds at Lake Mead National Recreation Area. I wandered around the campgrounds, stomach aching and feeling like I might pass out again. Driven by hunger, I eventually built up enough courage to steal a few items of food and a blanket from campers who were away from their sites. I never took more than I needed. I managed to get along for quite some time pilfering food. Fortunately, no one seemed to take note of this scrawny kid roaming around the campgrounds. It was tourist seasons so I blended in. If a Park Ranger did happen along, I just turned into one of the campsites as if that was where I was camped, thus alluding any suspicion they might have had. The Lake became my bathtub, laundry facility and recreation area. There were, also, many restrooms about the campgrounds and so my basic needs were met.

As I stated I was 15 years old but I looked as if I was 12. I weighed about 85 lbs. dripping wet and was about 5' 7" tall. I have what is referred to as dishwater blonde hair (I prefer ash blonde) cut military style, in other words practically bald, and have dark brown eyes. I had always been a quiet kid; a loner. I was not unfriendly but never have had many friends my age. I had always gotten along with adults and felt more comfortable being around them for some reason. I loved to read. I was considered bright and easy going--not a problem child. Hell, I was too afraid to be a child--let alone a problem one--as my mother was just as physically abusive as the men she chose. She had a fatal attraction for sickos. They beat on her and made her life miserable. So because of her shortcoming she beat on me and my life was miserable. Like I was the culprit. She confided in me at one time that she knew she was rougher (gotta' love that euphemism for abuse) on me than the other kids as she knew I could handle it. Wow! Was that a compliment or an acknowledgment of my usefulness? I grasped at any form of attention recognition or acknowledgment she bestowed on me. Yeah, gullible of me, but I desperately wanted her love and attention.

... Now to figure out what to do as I was not returning home.

One day while wandering aimlessly around the campgrounds I espied this flyer posted on a bulletin board outside the little general store. It was about a program that found employment for high school kids. The following morning I decided to hitch hike, my main mode of transportation--actually my only mode other than hoofing--into Las Vegas and check it out. Once I found the place I enquired as to what I needed to do. I was given some forms to fill out and was directed to take a seat and wait for an interviewer. I complied and filled out the necessary forms. I then waited for what seemed like hours. Eventually, this very nice lady called me in to her office. I was more nervous than a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs but she was very kind and I began not to feel so uneasy. I was clean and all, but I had been wearing the same clothes for a while, and believe it or not I think I lost a few pounds. She asked me a few questions about myself and previous job experiences. I believe I satisfactorily answered her inquiries. I did tell her a few white lies about my family and where I lived. She then informed that me my parents would have to sign a form giving me permission to be part of the program. After a few moments of feeling disappointed and utter terror, I did some quick thinking and assured her I would be back later with the signed form ready to go to work. I do think I impressed her with my eagerness.

Though being devious wasn't my nature, I was desperate. My mother has a very distinct signature so I forged it. Okay, so now I was a criminal. I waited a while--it had to be realistic for god's sake--returned and handed over my signed paperwork. I anxiously waited for them to tell me where I'd be working. This was a government agency, however, and wheels did not turn as fast as this 15 year old thought they should. I was informed they would notify me by mail in a few days with some places that had openings. Mail me! Shit, now what was I going to do? I lived with my sole possession of a stolen blanket under two eucalyptus trees near campsite B-1 in a national park some forty or fifty miles from Vegas. I must have looked really down as the same lady that interviewed me started to console me and asked, "Steven, do you have any idea where you would like to work for the summer?" I replied, "I think I'd like to work out at the Lake." If ever I thought there was a god, it was about two seconds later when she pulled out an index card and said, "Well, you know young man, it just so happens there is an opening at Lake Mead for a grounds keeper's helper. Do you think you'd like doing that?" If she would have asked me to masticate turtle turds to make fertilizer I would have said yes. She said, giving me an index card, "Here is the information as to whom and where you are to report. Ask for a Mr. Lynne. Now make sure you have this card. Don't lose it," she admonished. She stood and offered me her hand, and told me to report in two days and with a smile said encouragingly, "I think you will do just fine." And wished me good luck. I was so overjoyed with my good fortune I hastened my return to the Lake.

Obviously being prompt for my first day to report was no problem. I continued to raid campsites for sustenance alleviating my guilt by knowing I would soon be a bona fide employee. The two-day wait was excruciating and seemed to take an eternity to arrive. But arrive it did and I reported promptly to Mr. Lynne on the assigned day. He took one look at me and realized that working as a grounds keeper's helper wasn't something I would probably be able to physically handle. "Maybe once you put some meat on your bones," he somewhat jokingly stated. They used these large pick axes. Hell, if I could have even gotten one above my shoulders I would have probably fallen over backwards from the weight once in that position. Did I mention I was slender and of light weight? The gods weren't looking too wonderful to me now. But wait...they did have an opening for someone to assist in cleaning the campground restrooms, did I think I would like doing that? Would I? Hell, I was so elated I was ready to go round up turtles! I was one happy camper--no pun intended.

My tasks actually were quite varied; from cleaning the restrooms, my main assignment; garbage collecting; occasionally, grounds keeping, (I got to do the raking and putting the clippings in the garbage cans. No pick axes!). Every once in a while I worked with George, the mechanic, who took care of the maintenance on the patrol boats used by the Park Rangers.

It was while working in the boat yard I learned my first lessons about the wonderful affects vibration has in the groin area. I usually was assigned to sand the bottom of the boats as I could more comfortably fit underneath than George. Since I didn't weigh very much I really had to put my entire body weight behind me to effectively get the crud off the boat's hull. Of course, that meant placing this super-charged sander in my crotch area and pushing for all I was worth. Oh, what a sensation! I got a fucking boner so fast; god, it felt good. I swear the first time I was sanding I thought I was going to blow a load when all of a sudden I got this burning pain. I went to the toilet and saw not only was I sanding the boat, I abraded the skin off my penis because of the friction on the material from my underwear. After healing I did try different variations as this was a neat little tool. Let me tell you it was difficult to inconspicuously use this sander and take advantage of its other stimulating uses with ones tool hanging out!

After having worked at the Lake for about two months, I eventually had to confide my situation to Sam, the guy I worked with the most cleaning the restrooms. He was curious as to how I managed to get to and from Las Vegas everyday as obviously I was not old enough to drive. "Do one of your parents drive you here and pick you up everyday," he enquired?" I told him I was crashing in the campgrounds at night and why. Sam was a neat guy. He was in his mid-40's and had an easy going sweet gruffness about him. He constantly had a wad of Beechnut chewing tobacco in his cheek and talked like--well, as though he had a wad of tobacco in his mouth. His personal vehicles, plus the van we used for work sported this brown flame-like pattern splattered on the door from his having to spit so often. Guess who got to clean off the van door? In one of my I want to belong/I am a man moments I decided to try chewing tobacco. I immediately learned one should never, never, swallow while a wad of Beechnut was in ones mouth. I think I turned every imaginable shade of green when I made that small mistake, much to the amusement of Sam and my co-workers. I actually did, for a time, take up chewing tobacco. Talk about a ridiculous sight; a kid who barely looked 13 years old, chawing away on wad of tobacco and spitting every 10 seconds or so. As I was emulating Sam, I do think he got a kick out of it.

Sam had befriended me and we did pal around a lot together. We spent a lot of time ogling and making crude comments about the women we saw as we made our rounds cleaning the campground toilets. I personally didn't see all the need for all this hoopalahing and fuss for big tits and stuff, but that's what men do. What an act. Like a bunch of peacocks strutting their stuff and splaying their feathers. You'd think every women alive was just waiting for the opportunity to jump our bones. Hell, I probably couldn't have run fast enough--and not towards-- if a woman even seemed remotely interested in my striking yet slender body.

Unbeknownst to me, Sam talked with the head supervisor, Mr. Lynne, about my situation and though it was against policy, they moved a light couch into one of the warehouses. Though they did inform the Park Rangers of my tenancy, I was cautioned to keep a low profile, which I readily agreed to do. I immediately began setting up house. I spent almost the entire night cleaning and sweeping my new digs. Though it was a struggle, I managed to hollow out a place from a mountain of cartons containing toilet paper for my closet. My possessions now included a little hot plate that sat on top of a fifty five gallon barrel of Pine Sol concentrate, a small sauce pan, eating utensils, a bowl and plate. For entertainment, Sam gave me an AM-FM radio. Others I worked with donated bedding and other linens. All I lacked to set the mood I felt was one of those embroidered pillows with "Home Sweet Home." The Andersons, a very nice elderly couple, owned a little general store by the Lake. They gave me a charge account so could I charge hot dogs and such fare between paychecks.

I was free. I had people who genuinely cared about and for me. I was supporting myself. And... I had those very spacious living quarters. This time in my life became one of the happiest.

There was a small community of government workers who lived at the Lake in a small housing development set back off the main road. It was barely visible to passers by. All the homes were constructed with cinder block and painted the ever-popular institutional government puke green. There were about 10 homes altogether, scattered over a couple of desert acres. The people there took me under their wings. Never once was my situation brought up or even alluded to. They treated me much like a young adult and were continually inviting me to dinner that was of course, if I was not too busy. They always marveled at the copious amounts of food I could stuff in this slender frame of mine. Sometimes I thought they just invited me to watch me eat. Even I knew, however, it was because they were making sure I got some substantial food other than hotdogs and beans. Also, if I was not too busy, perhaps I'd like to stop by and watch TV or play cards.

George, who headed the boat yard facility (and possessed that marvelous sander) invited me to join their small square dance group. Fred Astaire I was not nor Ginger. I had all the grace and beauty of a wounded buffalo on roller skates. For all my slenderness--coordination and agility were not among my attributes-- but it didn't seem to matter. What mattered was that we were having fun. They didn't seem to mind that I dos-ee-do-ed, when I should have been promenading home. Now for a kid who never was in any sort of limelight and to whom mistakes were akin to mortal sins, this was--well, to be honest--it sometimes felt really, really uncomfortable. Unreal. It was a foreign experience for me. (I kept waiting for the humiliating remark and/or crack across the head.) It was, however, what I wanted so much. To belong; to feel a part of; to matter. I was not accustomed to people being concerned about my well-being let alone my opinions or thoughts about anything. It took me a while before I adjusted to this newfound community. Caring, loving and acceptance do grow on you after a while.

Tobacco chewing Sam and his wife Faye, took a very special interest in me and my well-being. They invited me to movies; to visit their friends and relatives; took me out to restaurants and; involved me in many of their family activities. Sam even took the time to teach me how to drive. I guess if I had an inkling as to what a family was or how it should function, this was pretty close to what I would have imagined. I worked with Sam for most of my time there and we had become good friends. Despite all of our sex talk, Sam was very happily married. Sam and Faye had a daughter my age named Cathy. I sort of fell in love with her, or being fifteen, perhaps in lust. Of course, I regarded Sam and Faye too much to act on these lustful desires. I don't even know if I would/could have approached Cathy, as when it came to relationships I was clueless. Not that I hadn't had girlfriends before, mind you....but they were going to the movies and neighborhood garage dance relationships, more like good friends with the title of boy and girlfriend. I might add, any girls I went with always initiated the contacts. Otherwise I would never have had a date! My regard for Sam and Faye and my fear to approach Cathy however, did not mitigate my feelings for Cathy. She had become unbeknownst to her, my secret attraction.

Of the small group of workers, Jim was one of the `garbologists' with whom I worked on occasion. Jim was a nice enough guy, but he and his wife both drank quite a bit and I did have an aversion to drinkers. I didn't trust them any farther than I could throw a 747 jet. However, Jim and Glenna, for the most part were friendly, amiable drunks. They had a 10 year old daughter, Peggy and a son named Val who just so happened to have a thing for my Cathy. I had become a tad jealous as Val was a very good-looking kid.

I had as a result of some very good meals and a swimming regimen I did daily with the lifeguards prior to their going on shift gained weight and had become a less emaciated person of 115 lbs. Also, as a result of this exercise, I had developed a broader chest to boot. I still was not the pick of the litter in the looks department. At least that's the perception I had of myself after being reminded over the years how scrawny, ugly and skinny I was. Val, this buttinsky into my unbeknownst to the other party attraction brought about a macho-ism that believe me was purely fake bravado. I couldn't have beaten my way out of bowl of jell-o, and besides, I hated violence. The fact that Val was just one of those very nice and friendly sort of guys didn't make my dislike for him any easier.

One evening Val's parents invited me to dinner. That was, of course, if I was not too busy. I accepted: One, as I wanted to confront this woman stealer and Two, because I was a voracious eater! To describe Val; he was 15 years old and stood 5' 5" tall; weighed 125 lbs. had dark wavy brunette hair, dark brown eyes and as I was to come to know a--great body. As I mentioned, I was there to show this young upstart just with whom he was dealing when you stole my unbeknownst to the other party attraction. But young Mr. V. I discovered was very, very hard to dislike. He was just too damn affable. Plodding on, however, with my agenda, I noticed he had a set of weights on his patio. With all my he-man confidence, and puffing out my newly developed pecs, I ever so casually enquired, "Hey, Val, how much can you lift?" Affecting an attitude that I could press a ton and did so on a daily basis. He, shrugging his shoulders, replied as though no one had ever asked him before, "Oh, I dunno, `bout 225 lbs." Now I had never lifted weights in my entire life but carried on with my machismo as he asked, "How much can you lift?" Having nary a clue, I incoherently mumbled and proffered some number. Now he wasn't suppose to actually ask me to lift anything, but he hadn't read my script. He invited me to work out with him--RIGHT THEN--not at some later date--but THEN! What could I do except acquiesce and make a total fool of myself. As I said, Val was short and weighed 125 lbs. He casually went over to the barbell with the weights and jerked it up over his head with one arm. I counted the weight and it was 125 lbs. Well, so much for my giving him his comeuppance. I weighed about 115 lbs. and on a good day could probably only lift maybe 35 lbs. above my head. My lack of Herculean strength didn't seem to phase Val. At my dreaded turn, he just lowered the weights and then encouraged me to keep pushing as I grunted and struggled to lift them. He was clueless as to my agenda for him. Damn he was being too nice.

Val lived about two miles from my lavish digs. Both his parents were a tad too tipsy to drive and it was pretty late. The road to the housing area was only two lanes, and was often traveled at high speeds and sometimes by those who have had a few cocktails too many. Val's not too sober parents were, however, cognizant enough of the dangers and discouraged my walking home. Val was quick to agree with his parent and somewhat excitedly says, "Yeah, Steven, I think you should spend the night here. Dad can take ya' to work in the morning." "Can't ya' Dad?" Jim slurringly responded, "Sure no problem." So I spent the night with my now, not so mortal enemy.

Val, slept on the couch and I just beside it. We started conversing on the usual guy stuff--girls, sports, animals, more girls, sex. Which lead in time to comparing equipment. Yea! Uuuh, I mean, oh dear! I finally out did him in something. It's the little things--well in this case the bigger thing. Hard I was a good six and half inches in length and my girth, well lets just say it would not fit in that cardboard core of a toilet paper role. Don't ask how or why I knew that! One positive aspect of being slender, it also makes ones appendage appear bigger. Expressing how horny he was, especially, after thinking about all those big boobs and tight pussies, which we descriptively elaborated upon, we proceeded to jack off together. He while describing some big-titted voluptuous broad and what he'd like to do to her. I while mesmerized by his beautifully smooth sculpted hairless body and cock; desperately trying to conjure up a way to just accidentally touch his cute dick. I thought about using the line, "Hey, hold on a minute, I think ya' got a piece of lint on your..." I then decided against that approach. Cathy? Cathy who?

I must tell you that I didn't know what Gay was. I had heard the word homosexual and knew that queer, pansy, fag and fruit were some of the sobriquets used to describe homosexuals. From the connotations I understood those words--I definitely was not one of those people. To be quite frank, I never even thought anything negative or positive of what I was doing or had done previously. It just never occurred to even question these activities. Val was not the first boy I had had thoughts about or the first with whom I've jerked off. Sex with another boy just was not something you discussed with anyone. Girls however, were a different matter. We bragged about the tit we saw or the one we felt. We described our sexual fantasies while ogling over an edition of a National Geographic with its photos of naked Nubian women or the latest Playboy borrowed from an older brother or dad's stash. What the hey, sexual conversations were like fish stories, ever so slightly embellished to titillate the listener with one's vast sexual exploits and experiences. Even at that age I found other boys' sexual braggadocio humorous. As I knew most of it was pure bull. And not to embark on my prior titillating sexual experiences; up to that point in time 99% had been strictly mutual jack-off encounters.

And as to Love, putting sex aside for a moment, well, once again, I probably would have never admitted to having that feeling for a boy. Not because it was wrong, but because I didn't know that's what it was. Unbeknownst. Also, it was not what one boy feels for another boy. Is it?

As my relationship continued with Val, I really had no explanation for why I felt the way I did for him. Heck, I didn't have a clue as to my feelings on many levels. Fear and guilt I pretty much had a handle on, but the rest--unbeknownst. I seemed to have constant thoughts about Val. There were times when I questioned and had some confusion as to my strange feelings and thoughts. What was it about Val that made me want me to be around him all the time? Even more perplexing; why did he like being with me? I mean--here was this 5' 5'' 125 lb. cutie. With dark brown eyes that could have you swooning and creaming in your pants. He definitely didn't lack for female companionship. I mean what fool would pass up this guy who had a great fun-loving personality and such a beautiful body. I don't think there was an ounce of fat on him. At least I hadn't found any in my explorations of it. He could bench press close to 310 lbs and I don't think there was a sport at which he didn't excel with maybe the exception of track, even though he was no slouch there either. Scholastically I'd say he was about average. He'd rather have been out tossing a football than learning how to conjugate verbs. Because he was very good athletically, he could be a little cocky at times, especially when the older and bigger guys looked at him and viewed him as this little twerp. Val just relished in his abilities to out do them, and flaunt it in their stunned faces as he out maneuvered and/or over powered them. He also had a boyish mischievousness, much to the consternation of one being the victim of one of his pranks. He loved to tease. Every once in a while he'd get me going on something and then you'd see this little smirk start to form and you knew you were being taken in. Then he would laugh, "I got ya' again," he chortled. I loved that laugh.

In the time I had known Val I had only ever seen him get angry twice. He'd get mad about stuff, but I mean anger that drove him to physically accost some one. One incidence was at a school dance. Some guy who was about 6' tall and probably weighed at least 185 lbs. was harassing Val's date. You know the type: The jerk who says, "What are you doing with that runt; when you could be with a real man?" Val asked him to back off but this guy kept badgering and threateningly asked Val, "What are ya' gonna' do about it runt?" Like a bolt of lightening, Val hauled off and belted the guy in the gut and when he bent over gasping from the blow, he then slugged him in the jaw. The guy dropped like a stone. Friends' of Val grabbed him because they knew in this state of anger he could really hurt the now fallen jerk. Surprisingly to some; Val and his six-foot assailant became friends down the line. No surprise to me, that was Val; he was just really hard to dislike.

The other occasion was more or less because of me. We were playing football with a group of guys and this one player who was built like a college fullback was really being unnecessarily rough. Also, as I was awkward and uncoordinated he kept making fun of me and calling me names. I was fast however, and I was told to run out for a pass. To get to the place of reception I had out maneuvered this blowhard, stopped and waited for the pass. Unexpectedly, he plowed into me with great force, nailing me to the ground and knocking the wind out of me. He then got up and laughed. Val, like a raging bull, came barreling down the field; grabbed this guy; jacked him up against the goal post so hard I thought the damn thing was going to topple over. He looked into the guys eyes with such anger and hatred, and told him if he ever laid another unwarranted hand on me or opened his big mouth one more time he'd rip him a new asshole. Again, friends were there to pull Val off. He then ran over to me with a very concerned look and asked if I was okay. Helping me and up brushing off the dirt and grass he took me over to the sideline and told me to rest for a few minutes. All the time he was apologizing and telling me how sorry he was and cussing out the oaf. My hero.

Val was very easy going the majority of the time however. Nothing really ruffled his feathers too much. For the most part he'd slough most stuff off with, "What an asshole!" He would tease me once in a while about my awkwardness and would call me a real klutz. But it usually came at the end of one of his embellished play-by-play commentaries leading up to just before I dropped the ball or tripped over myself. Followed by, "I think ya' did real good today." Never mean spirited. I knew he was sensitive to the fact that I knew I was a klutz and was reluctant to participate.

Val and I continued to get together on pretty much a daily basis for our jack off sessions. We, after some time elapsed in each other's company, graduated to actually jacking each other off. Val was not super hung but I didn't care. His slender five inches was fine by me. I just loved wrapping my hand around his stiff arced cock and getting him off. He was always fascinated and making comments about my size. Since we had graduated to giving each other a hand we even did a little body rubbing--no real vigorous groping. Kinda' awkward body massaging. Touching Val sent electrifying pulses through my entire body. His body was smooth and hairless except in the nether region where he sported a small course patch of jet-black pubic hair about the base of his cock. He was as solid as a brick and his muscles--though not bulging like Arnold Schwarzenegger, thank god--were very well developed and defined. And what a cute butt; small, smooth and firm. I often would lay my head on his ripped stomach while jacking him off and playing with his balls or rubbing between his legs and his butt cheeks. I became deeply aroused and just loved watching him climax. He in turn with the fascination of my size liked to get me off too, and willingly lent a hand in that endeavor. What sluts we had become!

Val and I hung out together much of our free time. We played pool on the dilapidated table at the clubhouse of his trailer park. As we were only a stones throw from the Lake we went swimming frequently. We liked to swim out to the diving raft some fifty or so yards from the shore, where we discovered a hollowed out area under the raft where we could surface beneath and harass the sunbathers above by rocking the raft. Oh, and we could fondle one another unnoticed too! We shared ideas and talked about cars and other important things going on in our young lives. Many times when we hiked in the desert, or just sat on his patio, we discussed our plans for the future: What we'd like to do or become; how many kids we'd like to have; where we would like to live; whether we'd like or planned to go to college. Many of these discussions were quite serious; some were somewhat fantasy--a proclivity of youth. Sometimes we just leisurely sat around discussing our friendship and our enjoyment of it and what it meant to each other.

As stated previously, I had never been particularly good at sports. I liked to participate, but lacked agility and coordination to do well. In school I was the kid when it came to choosing up sides kids would say, "Will give ya' quarter if ya'; take Steven." Val never once discouraged me. He would spend time with me showing me and coaching me as to the correct way to do something. Once in awhile if we went to the field to play a team sport, he always picked me first, knowing full well I was lousy. I was growing increasingly fonder of him.

We also had are own little secret hideaway we went to for our sexual encounters. It was a little camping trailer stored, along with many others, in an area by his trailer park. We happened upon it one day quite by accident, and as the door was unlocked. Well... It had become our place for our trysts. It was in this little trailer, after much agonizing and fretting as to whether I should or shouldn't, that I finally built up the courage to ask Val if I could suck his dick. Sucking dick up to that time, was not something I particular relished. When I was around 12 years old, I was molested for some time by this old guy. He would force me play with him and to suck him. One time he held my head tight and wouldn't let me move. He came in my mouth. The taste was disgusting--I threw up all over him. With my peers there was this tacit agreement that if I do it to you/you do it to me. Basically it was putting ones mouth over each other's dicks for a nanosecond but no real sucking took place. I really didn't know if Val would be grossed out for my asking. There was even a little fear he might slug me and walk out. Those thoughts almost kept me from asking, but lust and desire won out. He didn't appear to be disgusted and, thank god, didn't walk out. Instead he replied, "Do you want to?" I countered, "Well, do you want me to?" "Well, if you want to." "Yeah, but do you want me to?" We went round and round with "do you want/do you want me to?" for I don't know how long. He didn't want me to do something I might not want to do, and I didn't want him to do something he might not want done. Val finally said, "Okay," and sheepishly added, "I don't think I can do it to you though." I responded, "That's okay, I don't care." And I didn't. I nervously put my mouth on his cock and began to lick around his cock head; furtively stealing glances at Val to make sure he was okay. I began to run my tongue up and down his rigid staff, tasting the saltiness from his perspiring. His breathing became more labored. As I wrapped my lips around his now pulsing cock I started to go farther down; he began to tense an audibly moaned. I could take him comfortably all the way in my mouth without gagging. It was a strange sensation for me. Weird. But this was Val--Val's dick. I felt his cock head starting to expand and his dick to swell. He gaspingly warns me, "Oh, god, Steven... I'm, I'm... I'm, I"mmmm aaaah ready to shoot." I sucked up to the very last second then quickly pulled away and jacked him the rest of the way off. His cum splattered on my cheek. I was satisfied. I was pleased he enjoyed it. He was so special. He was still holding me and caressing me and continued to jack me off--that was enough. You see, I would have drug my balls through ten miles of broken glass to jack-off in Val's shadow. I could have been happy there with Val for the rest of my life.

Though Val went out on dates frequently, he still made plenty of time for me. He had on several occasions asked me to go on double dates. (Which up to that point I had avoided.) On date nights, usually a Friday, while my unbeknownst to me secret attraction was out attempting to or actually bopping a coed, I would wile and fret away my time anxiously waiting for his return. If he didn't appear as was scheduled or when I thought he should, I cared not if there were a million drunken speeding drivers careening down the two-lane road. I hiked the two miles and waited at his place. On a few occasions I had sat up all night and cried because he didn't show. Did I think this was abnormal? No!

It came to a point when I never did anything without considering Val in the equation. I could not think of not having Val in my life. The thought that he would ever have a full-time girlfriend--well, I tried not to think of that--scared me some. Though I didn't think that it would change what we meant to one another and did together. Val had become my sole focus.

Was this Love? It was unbeknownst to me. It wasn't until years later I realized that when you had never really experienced a loving relationship, familial or otherwise, you sort of came to or invented a definition on your own. Mine was somewhat simple and to some, maybe even base, but it was the best I could come up with/create/devise from my frame of reference or experience at that juncture of my life. Whatever one wanted to label what I was experiencing; I did it with my whole heart and soul. I was happy. I was content. I was someone to somebody.

As I said, Val had frequently suggested we go on a double date. "Come on, Steven, it'll be fun," he cajolingly stated. "You're my best friend, com' on." Now I was by this time close to 17 years old, a runaway and high school dropout. The roster of girls I knew was pitifully slim. And of course, Cathy the erst unbeknownst to the other party attraction had long been forgotten in the wake of Val. And she currently had a boyfriend.

I have been a loner for much of my life and rarely interacted with my peers. Since I was nine years old, and as my mother worked, I became the babysitter, shopper, dishwasher, launderer, ironer, house cleaner and cook. So my responsibilities at home were many. I also worked two hours in the morning before school and two hours in the evening after school. Oh, and on weekends for a few hours too. Opportunities to socialize were scant. Frankly, social situations involving more than two people scared the piss out of me. I felt awkward. I was the kid who sat quietly within the group acting interested and attentive. I interjected, when required and appropriate, the obligatory laughter, "ooh's/aah's and yucks!" Often social situations required my having to explain the latest in a long line of bruises or sprained...pick a body part. Granted--in my era of growing up there was a belief in the old adage, "spare the rod; spoil the child." Few, however, in the environs in which I grew up had a modified broom handle taken to them at ten to...who knows how many whacks... for the unforgivable transgression of spilling their milk at the dinner table. Also, one never discussed the abuse. Ya' just didn't. That would bring on more wrath if found that family business was discussed beyond its walls. I also, would never paint my mother as anything but a saint. For in my blinded-eyes she was. I just came to believe I was a bad kid. My explanations of, "Oh, I fell", soon earned me the reputation of an accident looking for a place to happen. My social skills were not very well honed, hence, I avoided social situations. Problem solved. But I digress...

But this was Val asking me. Hell, by this time he was all but begging to go on a double-date. I finally gave in and gathered up the nerve to ask Cheryl the sister of another friend, Bobby, who lived in the government complex to go out with me. After much hem-hawing and awkward attempts at trying to ask Cheryl out: "Uh, I was wondering...Well, ya' see Cheryl, uh, there's this ball game on Friday, and...Well, uh, I know I'm not the best lookin' guy around...Anyway, I was, uh, wondering...Now, don't worry you won't hurt my feelings if you say, no...But I was wondering...I mean if you're not doing anything else... Uh, I mean if you're busy or doing something else I'd understand...It's okay if you say no...But, uh, I was wondering if, uh, you'd like to go out with me on Friday?" Phew! How pathetic! Cheryl was a very nice and cute girl and could have been in my cast to be an unbeknownst to the other party attraction had I not met Val. We had always been on friendly terms but I never sensed any indication she would be interested in me (and of course, I was so wrapped up with Val, I didn't pay much attention to whether anyone else held an interest in me or not). To my surprise, and I must say, my relief, she accepted to go out with me.

I have no idea what transpired but it seems everyone in the complex had suddenly found out about Steven's upcoming date. This became an event for these people. I was inundated with advice on how to behave; how to act; what to say. Jeesh! Ya' woulda' thought I was raised by a pack of wolves! My mother may or may not have been many things, but the one thing she instilled and inculcated to us kids was politeness, courtesy and good manners. I certainly knew how to behave. I may have felt uncomfortable in social situations, but I wasn't a social pariah for god's sake! I took all this attention in good stride, however. Their intentions were well meant.

Now that we got me all filled in on the social graces, it was discovered sartorially I was greatly lacking. "Ya' need to get a pair of dress trousers." "Ya' need a hair cut." "Ya' need to get a long sleeve shirt." (Long-sleeved shirt? It's 110 degrees for god's sake!) "Oh, and you'll need some nicer shoes." My occasions to dress up, well actually, to this point I couldn't think of anything that would have required me to wear anything but Levis or shorts and a T-shirt. Well, of course this had to be remedied. My lack of funds didn't seem to enter into this equation. I was making a whopping $40 dollars a week. A dressy wardrobe was not at the top of my list of necessities. Most of the clothing I had--of which little would now fit--was at my mother's. Even for Val, I couldn't bring myself to go there. Not yet.

Now there were, other than myself, only three other boys in the immediate area. One was ten years old, the other my friend Bobby, who was shorter and stockier than I, and of course, Val. I was tall and lanky. So there wasn't a big clothing pool from which to select in that group. Did that deter this bunch? Not on your life. They managed an ensemble that would have had Versace roll over and moan in his grave. I felt their love and caring. Embarrassed as I was with their fashion statement, that I could not ignore.

On the day of the date, Bobby and Cheryl's dad, Pete, decided I really did need a haircut and offered his services. Since it was his daughter I was escorting on this date I agreed to allow him to use his tonsorial skills on my ash blond locks. Along with snipping my ear--well, it would be kind to say a chain saw would have produced a better do. I wanted to call the whole thing off. I looked like a dork. I was really embarrassed but I was way too far into this thing to cancel now. Also, Val would have been really disappointed as he was so looking forward to my going on this date, plus a passel of people at the complex. One need not seek the validity of the botched haircut from others. They had this "Oh, shit. What lawnmower did you get in the path of?" expression. They, of course softened it with, "Oh, it's not so bad. ("Oh, no, it's not so bad, it's atrocious!"). It'll grow out. ("Yeah, but not by 5:00 tonight!") My well-meaning fashion gurus put their collective heads together--as though I was not present--and they decided a baseball cap would remedy the problem. Personally, I was picturing an Arabian burqa!

The hour had arrived for Pete--the wanna be barber-- to drive us to our destination in Boulder City for the date. Here was this 5' 9", 115 lb skinny kid wearing a pair of light brown corduroy trousers, a tad larger than the frame they were meant to be upon; cuffs rolled up; a belt when cinched, causing the pants to gather at the waist--the surround pleated look; a long-sleeved black and white checkered flannel shirt a few sizes too large; white socks and my recently laundered Ked Red Ball sneakers. Oh, and the crowning glory--a baseball cap.

Plenty of kudos by all as to our appearances and what cute couples we made were expressed, and wishes to have a great time. ("Oh, yeah, I'll be the envy of everyone!") I wanted to die. I was not worried about being socially adept or inept at this point. I just wanted the night to be over. Val, I'm gonna' kill ya'!

In all my splendor we piled into Pete's station wagon and headed for the ball field in Boulder City. Val, his date, nor Cheryl made nary a comment as to my appearance. I would have at the next opportunity bitten Val's dick if HE had said anything. Pete dropped us off and arranged a time and place to pick us up. ("Is about 20 seconds from now too soon?") We watched a local triple A baseball game and afterwards--as prearranged--went to a small café for dinner. I nixed a hamburger joint earlier with Val. "I'm not taking my date to any hamburger joint", I adamantly protested to Val. "That's just not acceptable." I insisted on a sit-down dinner. "I don't know why we have to go to a diner. Everybody likes Jimmie's," Val whiningly countered. Jimmie's was a local drive-in hamburger joint. It appeared to me Val could have benefited from a consultation with my fashion/social advisors on the proper way to treat a lady! I wasn't about to give in. I had saved five hard earned bucks for this date, and Sam had palmed off another $5 before I got into the car. Val capitulated, though reluctantly, to my demand.

I was the perfect gentleman. I opened the car door and other doors; pulled the chair out for Cheryl; inquired what she would like so I could relay her order to the waitress. We submitted our orders and I became a tad miffed as my date, Cheryl for whom I scrimped and saved ordered a hamburger (which of course got me this smug look from Val--I may bite him anyway!). Well, I was beside myself. A hamburger! Val and his date along with me ordered full-course dinners. A hamburger, jeesh! I thought perhaps she was concerned about my financial situation and was just trying to be considerate. I tried, unconvincingly and discreetly to let her know that if she wanted a full-course dinner it was no hardship on my part. A hamburger it was. I had ordered pork-chops, mashed potatoes and gravy and the meal came with soup and salad.

I was the epitome of good manners; napkin on lap; elbows off the table; sitting up straight; not talking with food in my mouth; cutting my meat a piece at a time and placing the then used knife on the back edge of my dinner plate between cuts. Participating socially by doing the appropriate laugh, "oohs/aahs and yucks!" Oh, though with some reluctance, removed my baseball cap. Despite my sartorial get-up the evening was going splendidly. As I was about to cut another piece of my pork chop while answering a question, I had failed to notice that my plate had crept close to the edge of the table. The result being a lapful of mash potatoes and gravy covering my crotch as the plate went clattering to the tile floor with a resounding crash. And nary the tiniest of cracks to crawl into. I was so grateful Val, nor anyone else laughed. I would not have needed a crack. I would have melted away from the heat of my embarrassment. And I didn't know if blushing red went with any of the hodgepodge I was wearing.

After we dropped off our dates, and I apologized for the thousandth time, Val and I snuck off to our special place. We did eventually have a laugh about the evening's fax paus. "You're such a klutz," He ribbed. I gently bit his cock and said, "I'd be careful buddy. You're in a pretty compromising situation to be calling me names." He chuckled. He held me after our love-making, letting me know and assuring me that it was no big deal to him. No beatings; not humiliating remarks. Just that wonderful boy holding me.

As I was coming to the end of my tenure for employment at the Lake I had to seriously look for and find another job. In actuality I was only supposed to have worked there from four to six months, but with the help of Mr. Lynne, we parlayed that into three consecutive stints. Along with other realities, I would not be able to survive on what I made there anyway nor continue to live in the warehouse. People on a higher echelon were beginning to find out about it and word was I needed to find other living accommodations. I tried finding employment at the Lake, but there were only three privately owned businesses there; The Anderson's store and trailer park and the marina. Both had long standing employees and no openings in sight. I was not a veteran of any war--unless you counted my family situation--so the federal government was out also. Boulder City was a small community and akin to the Lake, most places had employees that had been with the businesses for a long time and again no openings in sight. My only other option was to go to Las Vegas. Not an appealing prospect. I was sure, no, I knew, someone at the Lake would let me stay with them. However, there would be no way I could hitch hike to and from the Lake with any certainty that I would arrive on time at a job in Vegas. And Val. What about Val? My gut was in knots.

I began to search the newspaper and circled jobs for which I could qualify. Sam had already told me he'd take a day off work to drive me around once my list was compiled. So, list in hand on a Tuesday morning in early September we headed for Las Vegas. Getting a job when you're 17 and you look 13 wasn't the easiest task I was to discover. I could tell by their demeanor that many potential employers doubted my veracity as to my age. At about the fourteenth or fifteenth job on my list I got lucky. It was Mayfair Markets a large grocery store chain. One of their box boys was to be returning to college in two weeks. It was a full-time position. I told a few little white lies. I told them that I was going to night school so the daytime position was perfect for my schedule. After filling out the requisite papers they gave me the form I needed to have my mother sign for permission to work. She was still living in Pittman a little burgh near Las Vegas. I dreaded going near that place, but I had Sam with me so I didn't think anything would happen.

Bill was not there when we arrived. What a relief. My mother was her very stoic gracious self; friendly and the epitome of politeness. She asked Sam if I was behaving myself and if I was any trouble. I guess she assumed Sam was acting in some way as a guardian. In some way I guess he was. After some polite chatter my mother signed the papers and said, "You know Steven, if you want you can always come back here to live. That way you wouldn't have to worry about rent." "Nah, mom," I replied. "I don't like Bill and he doesn't like me and he's still drinking." (I wanted to say, "Dump that bastard and sure I'll come back." But given the choice between Bill or me, well, I knew I'd lose.) "You and I both know it wouldn't be long before I'd be in the same predicament as before. But thanks anyway." Now I have never not done what my mother has requested of me. Never. And she was asking me. My mother always put on a very strong front, but I could tell she was taken aback with my response. I knew I could not return. I knew if I did it would become the same old, same old. I had made up my mind that I would never allow anyone to beat me again. I had also come to the conclusion that my mother's picker was broken. If she wanted to be with that asshole--well, that was a choice she made, but I certainly wasn't going to be a part of that life. Her life. When Sam and I were leaving she again thanked Sam and told him how nice it was to have met him. She said I should visit more often as Tracy Ann, my baby sister, was always asking about me and missed me. I was hoping she'd say she missed me. As we headed back to the Lake, I cried. Cried, because I don't ever recall my mother ever really wanting me. Cried because I felt I had disappointed her. Cried, because in my heart of hearts I truly wanted to be with her and my brothers and sisters. Cried, because I wanted to believe she loved me; Cried, because she just never liked me. Cried--because Bill won.

A couple of days later Sam and Faye and I went to Vegas for dinner. On our return to the Lake I saw a sign on a clean appearing motel that offered weekly and monthly rates. I asked Sam if we could stop so I could check it out. It was old but obviously was taken care of by the owners, a nice elderly couple. It was only a couple of miles from my new place of employment, and the price fit within my budget. I put a down payment for a month's rent to begin two weeks later. Well, I got me a job and now a new home. I wished I could celebrate. What about Val?

Val and I spent a lot of time with one another those final two weeks. We kept reassuring each other that we'd still get together a lot. "Hell, we ain't gonna' be that far away from each other," he would say. It still would not be the same. Val was always there. I could see him every day. He was my rock.

My co-workers threw a small party for me and gave me as going away presents 5 white shirts, 3 pairs of black pants--that fit--a black tie and toiletries. This was the requisite attire for my new job. Val gave me a bottle of Brut cologne; his favorite and mine because he wore it. Again reassurances from all that we would be seeing each other all the time as Vegas wasn't that far away. I would miss these people. They were just always there with their care and concern and friendship. I had never felt so loved and valued.

The evening before I was to move to my new Las Vegas abode, Val, as prearranged, came by after returning from a date. He was driving his dad's brand new yellow Chevy Impala. It was around midnight and we drove around for a while as he excitedly showed me all the whips and jingles of the new car and how much pick up and maneuverability it had. We ended up down by the lake on a portion of the beach that was rarely occupied. We got out of the car and just sauntered along the beach tossing stones into the lake, saying little to one another. It was a beautiful night. A light breeze blew over the lake and the stars were twinkling overhead. The only sounds to be heard were the distinctive `plunk' each time a stone entered the water and the moonbeam ridden waves as they gently lapped the shore. I was sad. I was happy. I was frightened. Sad, because I will be away from Val; happy, because right then I was with him. With this move I was afraid. Afraid I would l lose him.

As we approached the car I headed for the passenger side and Val reached out to grab my hand and said, "Let's sit in the back so we can stretch out a little more." We got in the back and went through, again, the reassuring dialog of keeping in touch. Val says, "Just think, when my dad trusts me more with the car, I'll be able to come into Vegas to see you." "Yeah, that'll be great, and I can still hitch out here to see you too," I responded. Silence... I reached over and started caressing Val's firm thigh. I really didn't care if we did anything. I was with the boy who stirred so many feelings in me. Most of which I didn't understand. Most for which I had no frame of reference. What I did know was when I was with him the world seemed right. At this moment I just wanted to be near him; to touch him; to gaze at him. To inhale his aroma; the mixture of Brut cologne and the muskiness of his buffed body after he'd perspired a little. I didn't want to cry, but tears started to well up, and as one started to fall, Val reached over and brushed it away with his thumb. "Please, ..." And he paused. "I don't want you to be sad. You're not gonna' be that far away." He reached over and consolingly started rubbing my shoulders. He then slowly proceeded down my body to my crotch. I started moving my hand up his thigh to his groin and felt his hardness. I began to undo his top snap and pulled down his zipper. I lovingly caressed his now very familiar cock in my hand. It was such a nice fit. It was beautiful. It arced ever so slightly inward and had the most beautifully formed head. I reached down to cup his balls in my hand--his smooth hairless sac that was so soft. With my other hand I tugged at his T-shirt and he took the lead and pulled it up over his perfectly sculpted body. I gently rubbed my hand over his taut ripped abdomen and his firm well defined pecs brushing his now hardened nipples. His breathing was getting heavier and he squirmed and shifted his body to position it more lengthwise on the seat. I was enrapt by his beauty; his handsomeness. I scooted back so I was in a better position to do what I now loved doing--pleasing him. As I went to put my wanting lips on his cock he put his hand under my chin. There was a moment of just our gazing into each other's eyes. He pulled me up on his body and he held me and I could feel his firm rock hard cock pushing against me. He then whispered in my ear, "Let's go to our place. There'll be more room."

We drove the car to his trailer and park. We quietly exited the car so as not to disturb his parents and headed for our trysting place. Once inside we opened the windows to alleviate the stuffiness. I went up behind Val and put my arms around him and held him for a time. Caressed him. I rubbed his shoulders and slowly ran my hands over his chest; feeling my way down his stomach and into his shorts to get at his erect cock. He started to undo his pants and I breathlessly whispered for him to stop--"I want to do it." I undid his snap and slowly pulled down his zipper. I turned him around and gazed into those beautiful dark brown eyes. I lowered myself to a sitting position on the bed pulling his pants down and I began to massage his rock hard cock through his shorts. I removed his shoes. I slowly slid his shorts down then guided him to lie down on the bed. I laid down beside him and continued massaging and touching and rubbing all over his body. I couldn't seem to get enough of just touching him. I rubbed his inner thigh and between his firm butt cheeks. I gently fondled his balls and teasingly stroked his now pulsating cock. I started to undo my shoelaces and Val stopped me. "Let me," he said. Val proceeded to undress me with a boyish awkwardness. He laid his head on my chest and rubbed my dick and balls. He had never been this attentive to me before. I was ready to burst; fireworks were going off in my groin; he was touching me as he never had before. I slowly rolled toward him and he lifted his head. I wrapped my arms around him and squeezed. I, for the first time, kissed him on the cheek and ran my hands through his dark wavy hair. This was Heaven.

The passion built as we continued are groping, touching and rubbing. I could not hold back any longer. I ran my tongue down his neck. I used the tip of my tongue to lap at his hard nipples. I commenced to run my tongue down his body lingering at the small patch of course black pubic hair and took in the familiar odor of his crotch. I licked the head of his pulsing cock; down his arced shaft; over his balls and perineum. Val shuddered and arched his back. I worked my way back with my tongue and went to wrap my lips around his enlarging cock head. Val in a guttural voice asks, "Would you like me to suck on you?" Oh, god, here we go again. "Do you want to?" "Well, do you want me to?" "Well, if you want to." Yeah, but do you want me to?" After a few more go a rounds with "do you want to/do you want me to?" I finally said, "Sure". "Are you sure your sure?" Exasperated, I didn't say another word. I just turned my body around and had him straddle my face in a sixty nine-like position. Pensively with my cock in his hand, he put his lips over my cock and flicked with his tongue. First on just the head and then gradually began going farther down, taking in as much as he could without gagging. I was delirious; I was on fire. I had never been as hungry for Val as I was at that moment. My tongue and mouth seemed to have a will of their own. I took his cock to the hilt and twirled my tongue around it. I was sucking on his balls. I was running my tongue over his perineum. I rubbed my hands over his firm ass cheeks and with the tip of my finger started probing his rectum. Val was writhing and moaning. He continued to suck with more fervor. I ran my tongue over his tight hairless little butt hole and started probing with my tongue. I went back to sucking his dick while massaging the outer portion of his hole with my finger. Val suddenly gaspingly says, "I'm ready to cum...you'd better stop." "Steven, I'm going to shoot!" "Steven, stop!" "Steee, oh my god..." His body arched. "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!" His hot juices shot into my mouth. I tasted the salty sweet mixture. I swallowed. At the same instance I let go with a gushing burst that splattered against Val's chest and onto my belly. We were covered with sweat and cum. We were exhausted. Spent. We laid there for some time in silence wrapped in each other's arms. We dozed off for a while and when we awoke Val said, "We'd better get back to my place before my dad and mom get up. I don't want them to worry." We quietly got dressed and walked back to his place.

We sat up the remainder of the night and just chatted about nothing in particular. When his dad awoke, Val and I said our goodbyes. His dad drove me back over to my now vacated home and I waited for Sam to come pick me up to drive me to Las Vegas, to the place of new opportunities, new experiences. No Val.

 SEQ CHAPTER \h \r 1As Sam and I were driving to Las Vegas we said little to one another. I for the most part was lost in the revelry of the past two years. I know Val, Sam and the others kept insisting that where I was moving wasn't that far away and we would still see one another. For me that wasn't the issue. These people had opened their arms and hearts to me. They invited me into their lives. They encouraged, mentored, and took an active interest in my life and well-being. They included me in their activities. And all this was available to me on a daily basis. All this attention, strange as it was and at times difficult to adjust, was what to I became accustomed over time. I no longer lived in constant fear and terror. I didn't have to worry from one day to the next if I would eat or have a place to live. I didn't have to put up with maniacal behavior. I didn't suffer constant abuse or humiliation. These people became much like an extended family, and now I was leaving home--again.

Distance wasn't my concern. Leaving this--this family--Val--that was my concern.

Val--my wonderful Val. I had never before had a relationship with anyone like the one we shared. It just wasn't the sex either. Yeah, I'd miss that--a lot-- but I knew Val meant more to me than just a climax and I knew that was true from his perspective also. I had never had someone in my peer group that viewed me as important--a person of value--and treated me as such. Someone who was genuinely happy to be with me and do things with me. Someone who sincerely enjoyed my company and companionship and actually looked forward to seeing me. Someone who never degraded, belittled or humiliated me when together or when with others. Someone who shared his passions, joys, dreams, desires and sometimes sad and frustrating moments with me. Someone with whom I could have riotess fun or quiet moments. We were best friends, and unbeknownst to me, my lover.

As we pulled into the parking area of my new residence, Sam turned to me and asked, "Do you need any extra money or anything?" "Nah, Sam, I'm fine for now, but thanks anyway." "You have our phone number and if you ever need anything or just want to talk, I want you to call. Okay?" "Thanks, Sam. I will." "And if you and Faye are in this way, I expect you to drop by for a visit. I don't care how late it is, understand?" I stressed. "Sure, sure," he replied. Sam helped carry my few possessions into my motel room; gave me a hug and reiterated my calling should I need something. As my dear friend pulled out of the parking lot I waved and watched as the familiar tobacco splattered door faded out of sight.

After Sam left I sat on the edge of the bed and a great sadness overcame me. I sat there; just staring into space; at nothing. Thinking about everything and nothing. I felt so alone. Overwhelmed. Tears welled up in my eyes and started to trickle down my cheeks and I wished, my unbeknownst love to me, Val, was there to wipe them away.

-The End-

Epilogue:

I never saw Val again after I left Lake Mead. I talked with him twice on the phone a day or two after I left. The first call he said he had some bad news. He informed me we would have to find another place to meet as the owners of our tryst came by and took the trailer. The nerve of some people really! I can only hope the spirit of some of our passion, lust and love remained in that little trailer.

The second call, the next day, was even worse. His father had been transferred to another National Park in Colorado. He his sister and mother would be leaving in about two days to relocate as they wanted him and Peggy to get registered into the new school before too much more of the fall semester passed. To say we were devastated would be a gross understatement. He was to write me once he got relocated and give me all the pertinent information as to address and telephone numbers. Only one flaw: In our commiseration and shock of this sudden departure I failed to give him my address so he could relay this information and, of course, I had no personal phone number. By the time I realize this they had left.

I did write to him with the information provided by his dad's co-workers but got the letter back as Undeliverable.

Sam and Faye and I stayed in contact frequently and would meet for dinner occasionally. Sam died of a heart attack a few years later. Faye and Cindy moved back with Faye's family in the South.

...And me? A year after leaving the Lake, I came out. I became addicted to drugs and alcohol and lived a somewhat tumultuous life. (Fodder for more writings) Traveled all over mostly in a drunken stupor. At 30 years old got sober and have been for as of this writing 29 years. I live in northern California and lead a relatively quiet life. I do have a partner, but unfortunately, he lives in Thailand, where I soon hope to retire.

I do wish I could have stayed in touch with Val and still wonder to this day some 40 years later what he might be doing. I've done many web searches but to no avail. Wherever you are Val, the memories have not faded and I am so grateful to have been a very small part of your life for too a short time. Such are the vagaries of life. They too are unbeknowst.

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