Walk in Lies Chapter 21

Sometimes I wallow in the mire and root for garbage. This story might be that.  The following story is for adults and contains graphic descriptions of sexual contact between tweens,  adolescents and adult males. There is, of course, a power imbalance in these varied relationships, and considerations of consent are blurred.

If you are a minor, then it is illegal for you to read this story. If you find the subject objectionable, then read no further. All the characters, events and settings are the product of my overactive imagination. I hope you find it cathartic. Feel free to respond.

If you would like to comment, contact me at eliot.moore.writer@gmail.com.

Will you join your fellow authors and readers to support Nifty? To contribute discreetly  to the continuing operations of the Nifty Erotic Stories Archive website using a credit card or other methods of donation, go to http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html 

(First Edition Posted May, 2007)

Walk in Lies

Asking for It

Finn kisses Finn’s-Bitch on the cold forehead and tries to comb the long hair out of Mica’s face. It matters that Mica came back to him, it matters. Mica needs food, Finn needs food. They both need a warm place to go as soon as possible. Little-Bitch will have to fix that. Finn reaches into the small daypack with Mica’s slut-hustler supplies. He takes two lubricated condoms and shoves them in his pants. “Protection, I have my protection Mica.”

Finn Sykes hides. He creeps along the walls and always pisses silently on the porcelain. Being noticed is asking for trouble. Finn knows he is just asking for it by walking slowly down the street so late. It is pretty late. There are some other teenagers still looking for dates. His bitch always gets a date early. Alea said Mica was eye candy. Tricks stop for Mica all the time. Cars stop and ask Finn if his bitch will be back soon.

Those other teenagers also warned Mica not to look the pimps in the eye. The pimps are going to want Mica in their stable. If Finn’s-bitch looks the pimps in the eye, they will put him in their stable. That’s what the other hookers say to Mica. Finn hopes the pimps have gone to bed already.

Alea called Finn, Little-Bitch. Well, Little-Bitch is a bad-ass boy-hustler like Finn’s-Bitch. I have sucked and fucked with old men (once anyway) so I’m going to get in a car and take care of business for my bitch!

Taking care of business means leaning against the dirty glass under a bright sign and waiting to see if any cars will stop and ask him to get in. The wall gives Finn some protection from the constant drizzle soaking through Vikki’s sweatshirt and the better coat Mica bought him at the Thrift Shop. Finn leaves his hood down because he wants the cars to see his face. It is not a quiet road. It is a road from one place to another. Mica says empty roads make everybody nervous.

A girl Alea’s age walks past. Her coat is slung over a jangly purse so her well developed breasts are visible. Finn can see the large Areolas through the thin fabric. “Waiting for Mica?” She asks him.

“Yeah, he will be along in a while.”

“You watch yourself, little man. Mica doesn’t want you getting in any cars.”

“You watch yourself.” Finn agrees.

“I always do.” The teenage girl flashes a length of pipe she carries in the big bag. Finn wishes her good luck and watches the girl gyrate down the sidewalk on uncomfortable heels. Finn takes his sweatshirt and coat combination off and the rain patters on his bare shoulders. His undershirt is tight because fresh clothes are a mother’s afterthought. When Finn’s mom is travelling, nobody mothers Finn. The thin grey fabric is a second skin on Finn’s slender torso.

Looking sexy, Finn does not think this way. His narrow shoulders are hardly wider than his famine thin hips. From chest to groin, Finn is a sketchy matrix of young muscle. His washboard stomach is just a soft target in his mind. His prick and scrotum are simply vulnerable appendages people like to hurt. Finn leans on the wall, hands holding his sweatshirt behind his back. The water falls on his slender hardness, plastering the thin fabrics to his childish contour.

The Firefighter is simply driving home. The route is not direct. This commercial stretch with its propensity for underage hookers is well known in town. The little boy in the rain leans spotlighted by the commercial sign above his head. The Firefighter is three blocks closer to putting his feet up after a long shift when his right hand gets heavy on the wheel. He makes the turns and drives back toward the boy.

He stops the car down the block for twenty minutes while The Firefighter listens to a current affairs program he has no interest in. The small tween is like a statue propped against the plate glass of some storefront. Mostly, the young boy rests his oversized sneaker on one foot. The rain seems to have no effect on the small boy.

Across the street there is a familiar teenager. That boy stands in a sheltered doorway vaping clouds into the night. The Firefighter knows that one. That teen is jittery, hardcore, not attractive. Occasionally, The Firefighter has seen the new Angel-boy along this street, very underage. He tried to pick the long haired boy up once, but by the time he turned around, the chicken had been plucked. That new teenager was in high demand. Du er ikke alene, the 1970’s teenage actor and this new Angel-boy on the street are like that.

The Firefighter pulls up to the wet tween and lowers the passenger window. “Are you waiting for someone?”

“Yes, you.”

“Oh really.” The Firefighter would smile, but the boy against the building has not moved and he is not smiling. The boy looks skinny as a wet cat in the drizzle. The boy is very young. “You’re pretty young.”

The boy gives no response. The Firefighter might have just observed he was getting wet. An obvious fact bearing no apparent significance. The man decides to drive away, indulge himself no further. Only, the boy decides to speak.

“I’m eighteen.”

The boy steps away from the building and walks to the passenger window. He leans in to get a better look at the Firefighter. The man has a better look at the boy’s face. “Eighteen you say? I suppose you have some ID to prove it.”

“My ID is in my pants.”

The jittery teen across the street might make this double entendre, although The Firefighter hardly imagines he is clever enough. This boy seems unaware of the sassy flirtation. “Are you working?”

“Well, yeah.”

“What are you offering?” The little boy looks too young to be doing this in America. The Firefighter wants the boy off the wet street.

“I do anything.”

“What’s your name?”

“Finn.” The boy’s answer is either impatience or anxiety.

“Get in then.” The firefighter decides.

“You bring me back right here, with my clothes on.” Finn is suddenly cautious with The Firefighter.

“That’s an option?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Finn answers with a new uncertainty. “You pay me too.” He adds quickly.

“Hey, that goes without saying, Finn.”

“Right here.” Finn emphasizes as he sits down beside The Firefighter. “Mica will be worried, otherwise.”

“Mica is your pimp?”

“Nah! Mica is my bitch.” This is said with a mixture of braggadocio and relief. Finn settles back in the bucket seat. “So, am I supposed to do anything right now?” The boy is not as certain as he seems.

“Just sit tight.”

Finn is supposed to wait by The Firefighter’s car in the underground parking lot until the man steps into the elevator. Then he is invited to follow his Trick up to apartment 702 for the date. Finn gets this. It is like Mica having to get into the trunk of a car in the Sykes’ garage.

The Firefighter sends him to the bathroom immediately to shower. The man snatches all of Finn’s clothes including his sneakers. “I’m going to wash and dry this stuff.” The Firefighter explains. While Finn enjoys a very hot shower, the man sits like Alea or Vikki on the toilet seat.

“So how much less than eighteen are you? I did not find your ID in your pants.”

“It’s here.” Finn replies. He turns his little ass towards the man. The Firefighter cannot decide if he is once again being brazen, or if Finn is completely unconscious of this body language. “About six years.”

“More or less?” Finn looks at the man puzzled. The Firefighter elaborates. “Are you eleven or twelve?”

“Oh, twelve.”

The Firefighter appreciates the rare view of a naked pre adolescent boy. At this age, they only reach his shoulders. Finn’s head is still disproportionately large to his undernourished body. Despite the whispers of adolescence, he is very much a boy: narrow shoulders and nothing on the biceps. The waist is narrow below Finn’s rib cage. The Firefighter looks at the hand scrubbing body wash on what could best be called a petite ass. Finn’s hands are big and so are his feet. The Firefighter appreciates it all. Finn turns his way with a small boner and a mouthful of straight white teeth. Finn is, in truth, an ordinary boy with common features. Naked in The Firefighter’s tub, so free of puppy fat, Finn is ethereal, almost tragically beautiful.

Finn has doubts when he is on The Firefighter’s bed watching the man undress. It was not the scar tissue that covered the left side of his torso. That began at a shoulder blade and wrapped around his side to his hip. The burn ends in a wrinkled brand Finn could cover with splayed fingers across The Firefighter’s gut. That horrific burn raises Finn’s curiosity. It is not all that. Finn’s doubts are fired by the man’s physical resemblance to Cain.

“Are you okay?” The Firefighter asks Finn gently. Cain’s ghost evaporates. It is as if Mica had asked the question. Mica’s voice has its edges and bitter corrosive tones. Being Cain’s little brother was no picnic and Finn accepts Mica’s sometimes bitterness, completely understands Mica’s fear. Mica is gentle like Burley. Finn can meet Mica’s eyes. Finn’s-Bitch’s voice is safe, and so is The Firefighter’s.

Finn uncoils on the bed. He lays back and lets The Firefighter examine his length with his eyes. In the bathroom, Finn wondered if his date was like The Man, only interested in looking. The Firefighter runs a hand across Finn’s body ending with a very possessive manipulation of Finn’s scrotum. Finn lifts his hips so The Firefighter can extend his introduction to cleft and anus. The man is less coy than Leon.

The Firefighter pushes Finn over on his stomach. The anal probes continued. Finn is being tested for his reaction. The only reaction Finn is accustomed to is compliance. Alternatives were either scorned or punished. Finn’s-Bitch’s touch is completely different. Mica assures Finn he is welcome to enjoy it, but that is Mica. That is why Mica has to be Finn’s bitch.

“I have condoms.” Finn reminds The Firefighter, twisting his head around.

“Yes, I found them in your pocket. Very thoughtful of you.” The Firefighter laughs. Finn thinks he should help the man’s boner with his mouth, but it is not required. The Firefighter stands over him expertly arousing himself. It is like Burley licking himself, his dad leaving Vikki’s room, or Cain walking toward him in the years before Cain accepted Alea from their father. Finn knew what erect male organs looked like years ago. He knew what they were for, and what his own orifices would accommodate when he was very little. He knows his place at this moment.

The Firefighter lubricates Finn’s rectum with less regard than Leon had. He does it like Finn might wipe his anus with toilet paper. Then the man is on him. This is the simple accommodation of being used. Finn sinks into the hard mattress as the man repeatedly penetrates his rectum. Finn props himself on his elbows between the man’s strong forearms. Finn’s chin drops down to his chest or arches back to the metronome of The Firefighter’s hard thrusts. It is all rather like watching The Man’s angry penetration of Mica on the library table.

As The Firefighter approaches his climax, one hand catches Finn’s body up and holds his hips close against the thrusting boner. Finn is so light, as if he were a towel the Firefighter scooped up to catch his masterbatory spunk. The strokes become shorter and much harder. Finn’s body flops around with each impact. The Firefighter’s orgasm is like an exasperated huff. He is just stuffing his ejaculation in Finn’s rectum. Finn is a sock or some convenient Fleshlight receptacle.

Finn flops around onto his back when sex is done. He has the sensation that everything the man has given him is draining back out his open anus because his sphincter will not work. Men’s Pricks in his bum give Finn a boner. Finn has one now.

“Are you going to suck my cock?” Finn asks.

“You have orgasms?” The Firefighter counters.

“Yeah, sure.” Finn is not offended by the skepticism. “Mica sucks my cock.” Finn has a sense that he should not mention that Mica will always stay in Finn until the good feelings carry Finn all the way without a helping hand or mouth. Well, that is Mica and the Firefighter is just a Trick.

The Firefighter is stripping the condom off his deflating prick. “So just jack off.” The man tosses a tube of lubricant onto the bed beside Finn. “Get started, I’ll just be back.” Finn watches him leave, and then sits up on the side of the bed to play with himself.

Finn is stroking his prick when the man comes back. The Firefighter leans against a dresser watching. Finn does not masturbate much. Even after Cain and Alea died, when he was on his own, he did not jack off. Orgasms are why he needs his bitch. Mica and Finn take care of each other.

Finn wraps his hand around his scrotum so his balls will stretch down to the bed cover. His other hand milks his shaft. Finn does not beat-off much, but he knows how. He sat on the edge of his bed while thirteen-year old Cain masturbated his eruptions right onto Finn’s watching face. Cain masturbated all the time when he was twelve. Each time their father went into the girls’ room. Each time Cain thought about their father going into the girl’s room. Cain would stand by the open door and listen. Then he would come for Finn. Finn cannot remember when that started. Finn’s memories before six are disjointed and unpleasant.

“You are too young. I like boys, but always older. Older teenagers or young men.”

“Tricks like Mica.” Finn never related age to sex. It’s a factor, sure enough. Ordinary Fifth graders do not talk about the age difference much. Older boys talk about grown women as if they want to have sex with them, as if some twenty-year old fashion model would want their adolescent pricks. Finn supposes the girls in his class talk about older boys that way too. Finn shrugs. Pretty soon, he is going to orgasm.

“How old is Mica?”

“My bitch is going to be sixteen pretty soon. Ahhh, ugh, hmmmm,” Finn finishes with a short spurt he wishes he could share with Mica. He wipes the excess lubricant on his thighs.

“Your fifteen-year old bitch?” The Firefighter laughs at Finn.

Finn leans back on his arms, the stretch of his torso centered on his satiated prick. “He is Finn’s-Bitch and I guess I am his Little-Bitch.” Finn is a bit annoyed with the man’s smirk. The boys are sluts, everyone says so.

“I like that age.” The Firefighter picks up another condom. “Sometimes I dream I’m at a fire, and I have to carry this boy out. He is in his underwear and the smoke is really getting to him. I drop him on the lawn, hoses snaking everywhere. I give him mouth to mouth until he starts coughing. Then I’m ripping his underwear off and fucking him hard on the grass. My mates are running around us, putting the fire out and I am just fucking this kid’s ass on the lawn.” The Firefighter approaches Finn. “Roll over on the edge of the bed. Feet on the floor, kid.”

So they copulate again. Finn is hammered into the mattress again and his small body is lifted off his feet. He has to brace himself. This large boner has no regard for him. It just penetrates his bowels for five long minutes. After two minutes, Finn is answering each rude penetration with involuntary squeaks.

“You should stay off the street.” This is the only harsh thing The Firefighter says to Finn. Finn cannot answer. The man’s prick impales him with its steady rhythm. It takes Finn’s breath away. He is too small. He has always known it.

Finn has never been off this street. The hand comes down again, owning his thin waist and flat gut. Finn’s prick is erect this time, answering to the man’s expanse. It brushes against the hand unnoticed. “Oh fuck!” The Firefighter bites out. The man floods his second condom.

Finn’s clothes are in the dryer, so The Firefighter offers him some food. Finn is so hungry he could eat both their plates. He sits naked on his chair picking at the eggs. Mica warned him at The Man’s, never eat too much. Finn nibbles the mouthwatering toast and worries about his abused bitch, alone in a wet alley.

“Tell me a story.” The Firefighter suggests breaking the silence.

Finn does not tell stories. Finn keeps his mouth shut unless he is alone with Mica. However, this is a date. The Trick decides what he wants, a whore-slut does his best to satisfy the Trick. “So the hustler-slut is tied naked to the ceiling.”

“Hustler slut?” The Firefighter snorts. “Where do you get these names? Is it from the men you sleep with?”

“Mostly Alea.” Finn takes some egg because he is that hungry. “I’m the Boy and Mica is the Brother. Those are other names men give us. You don’t like giving boys names?” Finn asks curiously.

“Not really,” The Firefighter responds. “Go on.”

“Okay,” Finn adjusts his story. “The Brother is tied to the ceiling. The Boy has to use him for protection from the cane and the boxing gloves. One sister is whaling away with this stick and the other sister has the gloves on. The two sisters are both moving around the brothers and the brothers are moving around each other.”

“The brothers don’t want to get hit. That is a fucked up story you are telling me.” The Firefighter has stopped eating to listen.

“No, you have it wrong. They both want to get hit. They are both moving around each other so they can get themselves between the sisters and the bitch they need to protect. Only, the Brother is tied, right? He can’t move as easily to protect the Boy. The boy gets knocked down by a punch and the brother nearly tears his arms out trying to get between.”

“That is terrible!”

“It’s just a story like your fucking a teenager on the grass.” Finn shrugs. It was a mistake to talk. Telling that story was a mistake. A story about Burley and Mica would be a bad idea too. Pretty much all the stories Finn has are bad ideas. This is an epiphany to Finn. There are other people besides Mica who think there was something wrong with his family. This is Finn’s worldview. If you are not a man like his dad, Cain, the Firefighter, then you are a hustler like Mica, Finn, and being honest about it, Alea and Vikki.  

“What do you call each other?”

“Finn and Mica.”

“No, I mean the nicknames.”

“Alea said I’m Little-Bitch. I decided Mica was Finn’s-Bitch because he keeps me safe. We don’t really call each other that. I just think that, like you are probably thinking I’m a little cum loving hustler-slut.” Finn sees the look The Firefighter gives him. “Oh yeah, for sure. Everyone gives each other names. Alea and Cain taught me that.”

“I don’t think bitch is the right word kid. It’s not the word you're looking for. Finn’s-Brother and Little-Brother, maybe.”

“Mica is not like my brother.” Finn points the tangs of his fork at The Fireman. “No way is Mica my brother. He would never be my brother.” Finn spits out the word brother like it is some obscenity.

“Take it easy little man. Cum Loving hustler you think, so who am l?”

“You’re the Firefighter.” Finn replies, mopping up the last of his Ketchup and eggs with a piece of toast. “Mica says real names don’t matter on a date.”

“Why not the Burned man?” The Firefighter asks softly.

 Finn shrugs. “I don’t know. I just saw the picture of you over there and thought, firefighter. Do you think my stuff has dried yet?”

“I think there is time for one more fuck.”

Brief, Anonymous Survey:

Readers are often too busy or reluctant to reach out to authors. I appreciate hearing from you all. Please take my Walk in Lies Survey. It is a quick Google Form.

I have written a variety of short stories and novellas. You can follow this safe link to my Body of Work.