1.

The bus passed me by. My body was dripping with a cold, clinging sweat caused by a humidity abnormally high even for this time of year. Having lived here all my life, I had grown used to the intensity of the heat of the summers, to the incessant burning of my skin; the constant advert appeals and parental demands to cover up, shade away. But the stickiness of my skin was something I would never learn to cope with. It was unbearable, itchy and sore. It was something I would never like.

My singlet clung tightly to my moist flesh. Its thin white cotton was almost transparent. I could see the dark rings of my nipples. But this road was like a ghost town, all dusty and silent. There was nobody here to stand beside me, to watch my body from the corner of their eyes. Nobody to admire me, want me. I ran my hand across my chest. I was disappointed with this town.

I had told my parents I was heading to the mall to do some shopping. Grandpa’s birthday, new runners, that sort of thing. That sort of lie. My mother quietly pushed some cash into the palm of my hand. Her touch held on to me as she smiled. At my age, she expected responsibility. At my age, all she wanted was a happy, well-balanced son.

“Are you meeting anyone? Anyone…special?”

“No!” I replied sternly.

She is constantly disappointed by me.

 

2.

I strolled across the park in front of our house, dodging into the shadows of trees, trying to avoid the stare of the face I know watches me from a window. It keeps its eyes on the back of my neck out of worry. But I don’t look back. I am old enough not to be worried about anymore, I think.

I walk fast, imagining what it must be like to be in this park at night, standing alone in the middle of the darkness with a harsh cold wind blowing around me. In my imaginations, it is winter, much colder than those I will ever get to know if I stay in the heat of this world.

I hear a whisper. A voice. A hand reaches out and starts to squeeze its fingers round the smallness of my neck. It pulls me down to the ground where I kneel now on grazed bleeding knees. I fight for breath in the strangling fog. My face is forced deeper into the darkened dampness of the hardened grass below. It is covered in a layer of crisp clean snow.

“Keep still!” the voice whispers. “Not a word!”

This park has been home to too many years of playtime matches with friends and foes. Too much football and cricket on hot Sunday afternoons with dust-splattered shirts that drive my mother insane. Too many untouched half-naked bodies running around me, leaving only their stain on my mind as I take them home to play with again, at night and alone. My hand buried deep beneath the sweat of my sheets, my body soaked in pleasure. These images drive me insane.

The man forces his hands beneath the naked crevices of my armpits, and lifts me up. Our faces meet. I hear the sound of material tearing; feel the cold wind blow across the skin of my exposed chest. He starts to finger my hard frozen nipples. I feel his hot breath, as he places his lips across my half-shut mouth. Our tongues touch.

“You keep away from that park at night!”

His harsh kisses begin to rip across my cheeks. I feel the bristles on his skin. There are pleasing scratch marks all over my body.

“You keep away from strangers!”

I begin to search for his wetness. There’s a momentary thought that I should say no when every part of my body urges me to scream out yes.

I think about the stash of tissues that lie hidden beneath my mattress, and wonder how long it will take before they are found now that I am gone.

 

3.

A second bus approaches. The driver smiles and waves as he passes me by. I raise my middle finger high into the air and step out into the middle of the road to make sure he has a full view of it in his mirror.

I stand there for too long, following the hairless curves of my upper arm. My eyes wander to the patch of dark wet hair that sits underneath my arm. I start to lick it. I taste my own sweat, and feel the tightness of my briefs as my cock starts to push and throb against them. I want to kiss me. To put my hands on me, my fingers inside me. I want to feel what it feels like to do the things that strangers have already done with me, to me, in my mind.

“Do you need a lift there mate?”

I look up and notice a man standing beside a parked car on the other side of the road. My arm drops quickly to the side.

“No!” I shout back. “I mean, no thanks. I’m going the other way.”

I turn and step off the road.

“I’m going that way. I passed you by before. Just came back to see if you wanted a lift.”

The sun lies behind him, glaring straight into my eyes. I rub my hand across my stomach. My singlet is raised just enough to allow for one small strip of skin to show through. I know this. My heart is beating fast.

“There’ll be a bus along soon,” I shout out.

A car speeds by, drowning out my words, blocking my view.

“I said, there’ll be…”

“You’ve already had two of the bastards drive right past!”

A droplet of sweat falls from the tip of my hair. It lands on my nose and starts to slide down and into my mouth. It tastes like salt, like snow, like sperm.

That morning, just after I had decided to leave, I locked myself in the bathroom for one last time. I lie down on the wooden floor, and kick my shorts away. I am naked. My legs dangle over my head as I pull quick and harsh on my bursting cock.

I had caught every last drop of my own cum on the tip of my tongue. I had swallowed it all. Only a few crumpled notes of paper cash had kept my mother’s hand safe from touching my palm. Only a turn of the cheek keeps her kiss from tasting me.

“You sure you don’t want your dad to give you a lift?”

“Up to you dude! But it’s fucking hot out here. You’ll burn to death!”

My arms are already starting to turn pink. Tonight they will burn, for sure. But I can only smile inside when I think about how I will never again have to hide these things from my parents’ displeasure. The thought of warm shower water pouring over me, tingling my skin with pain, it excites me. Fuck this town.

I start to walk across the road, kicking at dust and watching as the sun-glared vision of the man starts to come clearer into my view. His tanned arm rests easily on the opened door of his car. My eyes are drawn to the sight of his patch of armpit hair, much bushier, much longer than mine. It too drips with sweat. His unshaven face stares my way. I try not to look into his eyes.

“Bill. I’m Bill.”

He sticks out his hand and waits for me to offer mine. He grasps hold of my timid flesh and shakes it.

“Jamie.”

“Hey, Jamie.”

He holds on to me, tightly.

“Hey. Bill.”

My voice shakes.

“You sure this is all right?” I ask.

I am watching him now.

“Sure. No worries. No hassles at all.”

I walk around the car to open the door on the other side.

“So where you heading kid?”

 

4.

I try to keep my eyes fixed on the dusty road ahead, but use every excuse to turn towards him, to look down at his tanned hairy legs as he plays with the pedals beneath his feet. There is no air-con in this car. The windows are all fully wound down. A hot breeze flows in.

The car starts to speed up as we drive headlong towards the never-ending sandy horizon. Scorched and wilting greenery sits waiting for rain on the sides of the road. It’ll be waiting for a while.

“So how come you’re not down the beach today?”

“Dunno,” I shrug.

“Aren’t your mates all down the beach?”

“Maybe.”

“Don’t you like the beach or some’at?”

“Yeah! Yeah I do! Course I like the beach!”

My own naked legs look pale in comparison. They are smooth and not yet fully formed. Barely a whisper of hair climbs up past my knees.

I notice the man has a scar running from just beneath his kneecap, down the side of his leg, stretching towards the back of his shin. I lean forwards and pretend to scratch at my flesh as I search for its end. The harshness of my nails leaves temporary red marks sketched on my skin. I stare at them wishing they would last.

“Too hot for you then, ay?”

“What is?”

“The beach? Too hot?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

I stare out of the side window. I don’t know this road. I don’t ask him where we were going.

“Bit too hot to be standing out there waiting for a bus in this heat then.”

I nod.

“You must be desperate to be getting somewhere to wait for a bus on a day like this.”

I nod again.

“I am.”

“And a right bastard when the cunts don’t stop, ay!”

A short sharp buzz of electric desire shoots through me.

“Yeah,” I reply.

I turn to look at him and find him staring straight at me, a smile in his eyes.

“Yeah, a bastard,” I laugh. “I hate cunt bus drivers.”

The man laughs back. His laughter excites me. It pleases me in a way that I know my parents’ eternal disappointment never can. I think about their reaction to the foulness of my words. How they must despise the filth of my body and its thoughts.

“All of them, cunts,” I mutter again.

“So you live with your folks then?”

“No!”

“No?”

“No. No way! Not any more.”

“Bet you like that. Living alone.”

“Yeah, I do. I…”

“Get to do what you want.”

“Yeah. Exactly. Get to do what I want.”

“When you want. Where you want. With whoever you fuckin’ well want.”

The road was starting to narrow. The scorched bushes were closing in on either side. I imagined that if we met another car coming the other way, we would find it hard to squeeze by. But I guessed there were never cars coming the other way.

“So you got a girlfriend?”

I rubbed my clammy hands together and felt the coldness of the drying sweat on my face. My heart was starting to race all over again. I thought about my folks, just briefly, and wondered how much longer it would take before they started to worry about where I was and why I hadn’t come home.

A light cool breeze tears across my face. And then it was gone. Only heat now, and the expectancy of more heat all throughout the night.

“No!”

I turned back to face him.

“I don’t have a girlfriend, no. I’m not interested. I just don’t see the point, in girlfriends.”

As I stared towards him I caught sight of a small wooden house in the distance just beyond his shoulder. The road turned towards it. We were driving closer and closer.

“I’ve just got to pick something up from my house.”

I sat silent.

“Before we head off again.”

“Head off where?” I wanted to ask.

I could see droplets of sweat clinging to his forehead. One fell and I watched as he licked it away.

My eyes follow the contours of his body, over his muscular chest where a small patch of hair is visible just over the top of his t-shirt, and down to his shorts where I can see the shape of his cock all crunched up in a ball, tidily packed away. I thought I saw it twitch.

“No worries,” I whispered.

My scratching had slowed to a stroke, as I ran my hand up from my knee and felt the tips of my fingers tickle beneath the hem of my shorts. I raised my arms and stretched them out above my head.

“I’m in no rush,” I yawned.

 

5.

Inside, his house is cluttered and unclean. Layers of dust cling to every piece of rotting furniture. This place is a far cry from the sterile home I had grown up in and had hated every minute of that life. Unwashed plates and cups sit on the kitchen table and on the sides. I notice how most of them are stained with the colours of the food this man has consumed.

“It’s a bit of a mess,” he laughs.

I laugh back.

“Yeah, it is. It’s a real fucking mess.”

He checks to make sure I am not being too rude, then relaxes into deep laughter once again.

“I’m not much of a cleaner. More of an eat-and-go sort of guy.”

“Me too.”

“Yeah?”

“’cept, I never get to do that. Never get away with it. Always have to wash everything up, even before it’s finished. I get hassled if I keep a cup of coffee on the side for too long. Have you finished with that? Have you seen the state of your room! Have you…”

I stopped. I stared at him. I could feel my face flushing red.

“That’s how it was, when I, you know.”

The room fell silent. I wished he would speak, say something.

“Get on your nerves do they?”

“Sort of, yeah. I’m a bit over it, you know.”

“Gets like that at your age.”

I shrugged.

“Hey, I was the same. Couldn’t stand it. Felt like I couldn’t breathe.”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“So I just left. Walked out the house one day and never went back.”

“Where dya go?”

“Anywhere. Got some work for a while. Met some friends. Slept over at their places. Until I moved into here. It was tidy then!”

I looked around at the clutter.

“You’re lucky. This is a real nice place.”

“You want some coffee?”

“Sure.”

I watch him as he searches for two empty cups. He looks into them, and starts to rinse them under the tap.

“I’ve left home you know.”

“I know.”

He puts the cups down by the sink and starts to walk towards me.

 

6.

He started to rub his hands on skin beneath my singlet. It tingles. My cock was throbbing hard. I could feel cum dripping into the cup of my briefs. His harsh hands gently circling around my nipples. I whimpered, too quietly to be heard.

“You like that?”

I nodded.

He started to kiss at my neck and then his mouth moved along the side of my body and down towards my stomach. I was breathing fast, watching the top of his head as he buried his face into my flesh. My hands rested on top of him, started to stroke gently at his hair. I can see the ripples on my stomach pulsating up and down.

His fingers toyed with the lace on my shorts and started to prize apart the velcro. My cock veers off to the side, fully hard, but it stays trapped into place by the tightness of my undies that he starts to loosen and pull down to my knees.

“Turn round!”

“What?”

“Turn round.”

“Don’t you wanna…?”

“I said, turn round.”

I turn and rest my hands against the table. I can feel his hot breath against the cheeks of my arse, slow hot blows of air. His hands slide in-between me.

“Aaagh!” he sniffs, as a waft of me floats out.

I was shaking. My heart was racing so fast. For too many nights I had dreamed of this, wanted this. The roughness of his tongue starts to tickle at my hole.

“Please!” I cry out.

He starts to push himself inside, burying his nose deeper.

“Please!”

I can hear his slurps, the sound of flowing spit. I can feel the moistness inside me and I am not quite sure if this is his doing or mine, or a mixture of both of us.

“I’m not sure…”

His tongue reaches deep inside me and touches at a tender piece of flesh somewhere elsewhere, somewhere fresh. It has never been touched before.

At that moment, a line of cum spurts from me. I stand there with my legs spread wide and my arse fully opened, watching as it starts to shoot from the edge of my hardened cock with no warning, no sense of ejaculation that I had got so used to from nightly wanks and daily doubles. It splatters on the floor and stays there while I start to shudder and shake. My body is beyond my control, in epileptic pleasure.

The man holds me, squeezes me tight. He turns me towards him and starts to stroke at my hair. He kisses me. I taste his foul stinking breath flowing inside me. I blink my eyes for the first time in I don’t know how long, and remember where I am.

“I think I should go home now,” I whisper.

My legs are still shaking slightly.

“Home? What dya mean home?”

“Do you think you could just drive me back to the bus stop?”

“On no, you ain’t going home now.”

“What?”

“I ain’t finished with you.”

I laugh.

“No seriously,” I beg. “I should be getting home. They’ll, my folks, they’ll be worried.”

The man kisses me again, and places his hand on my cock. It starts to harden once again.

“I am serious. I ain’t finished with you yet. You ain’t going home. No, you ain’t never going home.”

 

7.

He takes my hand and shows me to a room with a single bed and a dirty mattress. There are no sheets and no blankets, only one pillow stained with large patches of a browny yellow.

“This your bedroom then?” I ask.

“No. Lie down.”

“Can’t we use your bedroom?”

“Lie down!”

I climb on to the bed and lie on my back staring up and watching as he starts to pull himself out of his clothes. He tosses them into a dusty mess in the corner. I imagine they will stay there for a while.

His body is dark, and hairy. The sun has dried it. There are rolls of soft skin around his stomach. He looks like he hasn’t showered in days.

“Look, I’m not sure I wanna…”

“Shut up!”

He pulls off his stained and torn red undies. His cock is hard and huge. It scares me.

“Turn over.”

“I think it would be best if…”

“I said turn over. Stop fucking whinging. Don’t fucking make this any harder than it already is.”

He laughs at his own joke.

I turn over and try not to smell the rottenness of the mattress beneath me. I think about all the times I have imagined what is about to happen. How my fantasies are always filled with dirty men who control me, demand that I do what they want me to do. But this isn’t my fantasy. And I am scared now. I can already feel it starting to hurt.

“Squeeze it tighter!” he shouts. “Squeeze it!”

I feel his ankles wrap themselves around the shins of my legs as he tries to push my legs closer together.

“Close them, you fucking cunt!”

The flesh of my thighs connects.

“That’s it. Now squeeze your arse hole together. Tighter! That’s it.”

I can feel his cock pushing against me. Its tip is poking at my moistened hole. I can smell his breath across my face. I know I cannot stop this.

“I…”

“Shut up! I’m nearly in.”

“No, I…”

“I said shut the fuck up!”

It enters me. A sharp stab of pain tears through me. I try to lift up my body to ease it.

“No, no! Stay down. Don’t move! I’ll do the work. You just lie there.”

“I need to move.”

“I said no. Just stay still.”

I had imagined this moment too many times, over and over. My imaginings grew stronger, more intense as post-pubescent ejaculations had started to flow and then they just refused to stop. As mountains of tissues started to clutter my bedroom floor, only to disappear somehow.

I had thought about what it would feel like to have a body lying on top of me, its weight pressing down against me, as I stared deep into its face.

“That’s it. Keep it tight.”

He starts to wiggle, poking his cock into every corner of my flesh.

“I want to turn over.”

“I’m almost there.”

“I need to turn over.”

Tears start to pour down my face.

“Hang on. I’m gonna come soon.”

I squeezed.

“That’s it! Yes!”

I felt my flesh grip tightly around him. His hand presses down on my face, squashing it deep into the pillow. The air grows hot. I can hardly breathe.

“I’m coming!” he screams, his voice much higher now.

He is panting, squealing.

“Oh my god, oh my…”

A flow of liquid starts to shoot inside me. I feel its warmth. My legs twitch, then spasm. Uncontrollable spasms once again. I feel the moisture spreading out beneath me, and want to know how this can happen.

The man’s body collapses heavily on top of me, breathing heavily. Its sweat starts to squelch. Slowly my own body is tamed, and I lie there feeling the stickiness of him inside me, and the stickiness of the patch of my own cum that rests beneath me.

I stay there as he lifts himself up and stomps with heavy feet across the floorboards towards the door, leaving me to rest tired and alone.

“How…why does it do that?” I ask him.

I hear him snigger. I hear the door close, and the sound of a key turning.

 

8.

Sometimes I think about screaming. Or trying to tear away the wooden slats that have been nailed to the window through which only thin streams of light shine. I can still tell if it is day or night, but I just don’t care.

I imagine what it would be like to have a bedroom overlooking a park in which I get to walk freely. Where I can play and where I might one day feel my naked flesh rubbing up against one of the many bodies that passes me by. I have fantasies about a world where all I have are fantasies.

My body is sore most days, but the soreness passes quickly. I no longer freak when I see tiny droplets of blood on the harsh toilet paper that I am given to wipe my arse. I am fed well and regularly. That much I am grateful for, at least.

Some days he speaks to me kindly, like he did on that day when I first dared to climb into his car and wondered what sort of a life lay ahead. Some days he is totally quiet. He strokes my hair and tells me he is sorry, and I think I hear him cry.

I wonder if my parents have already given up, assumed me to be dead. If they visit a makeshift grave built out of cold stone, with a fading picture of my eternal face attached. Do they go to lay flowers and cry?

I hear the key turn in the lock and sit up to watch him enter. His face is unshaven. He looks tired, terrified. I always expect that today will be the day when he finally decides enough is enough.

I turn away from him, roll my body over on the mattress and pull my shorts down past my knees. I lie face down with my head buried deep into the musty pillow. I use my fingers to pull my cheeks as far apart as they will go. I wait for him.

“Not today,” I whisper into a space where only I can hear. “Today we will imagine that we all live happily ever after, just for one more day.”

 

© 2005 Dean Durber - Contributor's Bio