JUST PLAIN BAD
By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM
"The boy is just plain bad." I heard Mrs. Grommel speaking to my mother after dinner. "I don't know why you let your Edwin hang out with that boy." She was speaking of Gregg, one of my best friends since we had moved here some three years ago.
When you're a teenager, you go through that phase, where you're looking to rebel and you hook with the more dangerous types at school. I'm sure that's what first drew me to Gregg, who rode a motorcycle even at fifteen, and still did, always wearing a black leather jacket, faded blue denims and white shirt, like James Dean only forty years too late, and for the same reason...for Gregg was a rebel. Blond-haired, tall and strong with a solid, sharp face, Gregg lived with his mother and father in a dilapidated shack near the railroad tracks, a clapboard house which must have been built around the turn of the century, his father a loud, lazy, beer-guzzling slob, his mother a beaten-looking woman with frowzy hair and faded dresses with all the color washed out of them until they were a near-white, too-thin handkerchief-like material, and she wore that while she scrubbed clothes in a washboard out less than ten feet from the tracks and hung clothes to dry while the trains dumped fresh soot all over them.
No wonder the too-pious Mrs. Grommel didn't like Gregg. I knew he had earned the money for his motorcycle first by a paper route and then by working in a gas station garage (on the sly, he was too young to work for a living), until he had the money and he had bought it himself second-hand. And I had ridden it with him, hanging onto his strong, thin waist, going to town where he'd let me buy him a burger and fries along with my own because the motorcycle and later, the jacket, had taken every penny he got.
I don't want you thinking Gregg was just a misunderstood kid. He stole, for one thing, everything from cigarettes to parts for his motorcycle. I helped him steal, frequently by stealing myself while he, the obvious bad boy, created a diversion of some sort, I could slip the item into my jacket or backpack and be out while Greg was being shouted at and thrown out. The store owners never looked at me, the clean-cut son of a well-to-do family with money of my own. Why would I steal anything? But Gregg had lately branched out into rougher things, things which I didn't want to be involved with. He'd leave me in the evening and come back an hour later with money...and I didn't ask any questions about how he got it and he never told me. Gregg was my friend, he'd give a laugh when he showed it to me and say, "Drinks are on me tonight." And we'd pay some wino to buy us a six-pack or a pint and we'd share it back and forth. And I was Gregg's friend and for all the way it started, I loved those times together with him.
"I'm sure that boy and his father were the ones who robbed that liquor store last week." Mrs. Grommel was gossiping to Mom. "Did you hear about it? Broke in the back door and the owner says they took over five hundred dollars from the till and some cases of his whiskey. The father's been roaring drunk ever since, now where would he get that kind of liquor to stay drunk if he hadn't stolen it? He used to only get drunk now and then, but he's been on one long bender ever since the robbery. Robbed it on a Sunday, too, it's just scandalous!"
I gave up trying to watch the television while Mrs. Grommel was there and went to my room to study. I had a test coming up next week and didn't want to have to cram all weekend, besides, I didn't have anything else to do, Mom wouldn't let me go out on a school night.
I'd been studying for about an hour, getting bored with it and wondering if the old bag had left, when I heard a small tap-tap at my window. That was all, just the quick sound and I had about decided it was a bird when I heard it again, tap-tap. Like something was hitting the glass, rather than someone was tapping on it. I was on the second floor, after all.
I went to the window and nothing was there, of course, then I opened it and looked out. The wind was cold on my bare skin, for I had stripped down to my boxer shorts some time before, thinking of going to bed soon, the wind clasped my shoulders in icy fingers and pulled at me to come join in its dance among the tree branches near my window.
I looked down; Gregg was there on the neatly mown side lawn, a thin rectangle only some ten feet wide. "Eddie!" he hissed.
"Gregg." I said in a normal voice.
"Shh!" he said, looking round. "Keep your voice down."
"What is it?" I said in a loud whisper.
"Can I come up?"
"Sure." I said. "I'll go unlock the door."
"No, don't do that." he said. "I'll come up." There was a large oak tree near my window at the back door, it didn't put its branches near my window, but you could do what Gregg did, which was to climb the trunk (it had a split-trunk, easy to climb and I had even done it once or twice since our moving in) and then onto a branch which got him onto the overhang of the first floor. It wasn't anything a person could stand on for long, being sharply sloping, but Gregg managed to walk it for the two steps it took to get to the window and grab hold. He nearly slipped off, then, but I was there and I got hold of his arm and helped hold him up and then he got one long leg inside the window and into my room, and stood there, a tall, strong form, looking out of place in my too frou-frou-looking bedroom (my mother had had it decorated, it wasn't my idea!), looking like an alley cat at a purebreed cat show. Not out of place, exactly but not part of it either.
"Why are you here, Gregg?" I asked him. Gregg had never come to my room before, I had always met him after school or at a burger joint which was a teenage hangout.
"I'm leaving town." he said.
"Why?" I asked him.
"Never you mind." he said. "But I need to stay someplace tonight. You got any money on you?"
"Not much." I admitted.
"Get some from your mother. Tell her anything. I got to have money, all you can get for me." He declared.
For the first time, I balked at one of Gregg's plans, and he could sense it, a storm built up behind those eyes of his, his jaw tensed.
"Edwin." he said slowly.
"Gregg, if I ask for a lot of money they'll ask questions. You can stay here with me tonight." I said, and I licked my lips.
"Stay here with you?" he asked me. "Where would I sleep?"
"With me." I said. And bit my lip, looked down at his crotch.
It was only a quick look, but he saw me do it. "So that's how it is, eh, Edwin?" he said softly, but not tenderly, soft like the tread of a panther's steps as it stalks its prey.
"What do you mean?" I asked him. My lips were cracked dry and I was nearly trembling. God, Gregg in my bed. It was a small bed, it would mean us right against each other, holding each other, me being in his arms, his body pressed against mine.
I stood up to talk, to try to convince him that I didn't mean that at all...and that was a mistake. I had an erection and in my loose shorts, it was a tent that jutted from my body.
"Gregg." I said to him. "Gregg, I was only trying to help you. You got to understand me!"
"I understand you." he said again. "I always wondered why you were hanging out with me. I guess now I know, huh? And I thought you were different."
"Gregg, it's not like that at all."
"Bullshit." he said, getting angry. His chest was moving strongly, so strongly, like a lion pacing in its cage, up and down.
"Gregg...Gregg, I'm sorry." I said, lowered my head. "I guess you'd better go now."
"Are you going to help me?"
I looked back up at him. "Yeah, Gregg, I'll help you. I always do. But I can't ask for it. I'll have to wait until they're asleep and sneak in and just take it."
"Okay, then." he said. "So we wait. How long?"
"They ought to be in bed any minute now."
"About an hour then." he said.
"Yeah." I said, looking at him again, his face, still stormy, almost scowling but the face itself wasn't wrinkled up at all. Then...I couldn't help myself, the way he was perched on the edge of my desk...I looked down again at his crotch. He was leaving town, I wouldn't see him again anytime soon, if ever. It would be the last look I got.
Watched the big bulge that seemed to always be there, maybe just the fabric or maybe his cock was one of those that don't really shrink down when soft, but there was always a bulge at his pants, a small curving lump the size of a couple of fingers side by side and about as long, and it stayed even when he moved, like now, and his hands reached down and unbuttoned his fly.
I looked up at him. His face was still set in hard lines, but now it was different, not just angry, but...masterful. Like he owned me. His lips nearly, but not quite, were lifted up into a smile on one side, his eyes were squinting slightly. I looked back down as his arms moved wide from his body and I saw him undoing his belt and then the top button of his jeans and opened it, showing the pale, bare flesh and the tangle of pubic hairs a deeper blond than on his head, nearly brown.
Then his hand reached in and grabbed hold, gave a tug, and his cock flopped out to lie like a serpent on his opened fly.
"Come on, cocksucker." He said to me. "You know you want it." And his cock like a serpent began to rise and fill and lift like a living thing.
"Gregg, I..." I began to protest as I regarded his prick, my jaw hanging slack and he reached out and grabbed my head and pulled it toward his crotch.
"I said suck it." He grunted. "Go on, you always wanted to. Now's your chance. Come on, do it before I change my mind."
I couldn't help myself, when he put it that way. All my pride, all my caution, it all went by the wayside, I had to act now or I'd never get another chance. So I did, I knelt down and got a whiff of his crotch, it was heavy and funky and not too clean.
"Come on, get to work on it." he said to me, in a hard tone but not cruelly. Just telling me what to do.
I leaned forward with my mouth and I put out my tongue and touched just the tip of it to his cockhead and tasted it like that. It was like touching my tongue to rubber, I had tasted an old tire's inner tube we'd inflated to play with in the pool once and it was like that, sort of in the strong flavor it had, but where the inner tube had tasted dead and cold, the glans was warm and alive.
"Uh!" he said as I touched his cockhead. "Come on, suck it now. Suck it."
I tentatively touched my lips to the cock and he groaned again, "Guuuuhh!"
I pushed my head down and the glans popped into my mouth like a cork pops out of a bottle when it doesn't go flying, just pop and it's up and loose. The cockhead was soft and spongy and I clenched my mouth around it, tasting it, getting the feel of it, and it was musky, heavy, rank-tasting, nearly sour and oily-like. Gregg didn't take baths very often, I'd always known that but never thought what that would mean, that his crotch would be this heavy and moist smelling, like a swamp where things rotted and died.
No matter how much and how long I'd wanted him, I hesitated at this, and he grunted and grabbed my head and shoved me down onto it and I was suddenly immersed in that pestilential jungle and recognized it for what it was.
Concentrated Gregg, that's what it was. Everything he was and had been and would be was in these aromas, this smell of his pubic hair told his life's story, filled with hard times and rough situations and dangerous encounters. It was Gregg walking along the sharply sloping edge of the overhang, knowing he could not fall because he'd be at the window before his forward momentum gave out and he could fall, so long as he kept his feet he would not fall and so he had made it where I would have hesitated or clutched and dangled before wrenching myself up into the window. All of this, every little act of recklessness and courage, every bit of his cruel behavior, all of it, was inside this steaming bog of damp, curled, kinked hairs that tickled my nostrils, seeped into my mouth from his thick, heavy cockshaft.
I clutched my mouth tight about his massive pole and I held it tight as I rasied my head up, pulling that foreskin with me every bit of it all the way up and as I did, the cockhead poured precome onto the back of my tongue, drizzling down like honey from a honey wand, and Gregg moaned as I did it. "Ah, yeah, yeah, like that." he muttered. "Come on, deep-suck it, like that, oh, yeah."
I made long, slow, deep strokes on his dong, and every move of my mouth he rewarded with his sounds of pleasure, as if each gutteral groan was wrung from his lips. "Come on." he said after a time, his voice trembling with his pleasure. "Come on, suck it faster. Come on."
I moved a little faster for him and he threw his head back and gave out a long, low groan. "Ooooohhh, yeahhhhh!" Then he lowered his head to me again and his lips parted and his breaths came audibly out. His hands reached out and down and he stroked my shoulders. "Yeah, come on, uh, huh, huh!" he grunted. "Uh, yeah, come on!"
I blissfully sucked his prick, enjoying this time, this giving him pleasure, this making him squirm and wrench and sigh, he didn't move his lower body at all, but his upper body from the waist up was moving in ecstasy, his stomach clenching inwards while his shoulders surged outwards, then his stomach relaxed and his shoulders sagged back and his head would weave as if a ripple had run up his body and ended at his head whipping back and forth, though all of this was slow, almost languid, only his breaths were quick and harsh and ragged, his chest was heaving independent of his bodies motions as he sucked in air to feed his lust-driven body.
He shifted one leg and put his booted foot on the edge of my bed, and I edged up to perch my buttocks on the bed as well and he reached out with one large hand to grab my head and he began now to make me suck him faster, he held on tight and he shoved my head down hard and he lifted it off, not by the grip but by the force of his will, he was using his hand to guide my movements for his pleasure and I obeyed as I always had obeyed him, then his other hand came up and he was now forcing my mouth down onto his cock and was pulling me up again and he was in control like he'd always been in control, and I didn't even gag because I let him fuck my face, and he stood up and began to hunch at me harder than ever, and his moans were like the sounds of the jungle about me, for my world was immersed in him, inside the dark corners of his will I made my home, and I was submerged into him.
When he pulled his cock out of my mouth and pushed me back on the bed, I fell like a limp rag doll, and his hands, calloused and rough from his work on his bike and in the garage working on cars, rough hands with a slight slick feel of old car oils, these hands reached and skinned my boxers from my slight frame and left me bare before him, still clothed, and he lifted my legs up.
Oh, God, I realized he was going to fuck my ass! I hadn't been fucked before, I had only known how to suck cock from my furtive self-training on a banana (don't laugh, it had worked all right so far, only a cock seeps salty fluid while you do it which can make you want to choke), I hadn't tried yet to shove that banana up my ass, hadn't even thought about it. "Oh, God, Gregg!" I moaned. I didn't dare say no to him, I needed to, but the look in his eyes smoldered like coals not of quenched flame but about to burst into flame, and that look scorched my soul and kept me silent.
And his cock pressed against my anus and I felt it like a thick tube between my buttocks and the head a massive bulb at my ass, and I groaned again, a small whimpering sound, and his hand let go of one of my legs and clamped over my mouth while the other kept my leg high with a killer grip on my ankle, and he pushed his dong into my ass with a plunge of fiery heat and pain that roared through my butt like a backflame rushes through an elevator shaft in a building in flames, a sudden rush of sheer raw fire and fury with a wind that carries all before it to swirl and then be consumed.
I looked up, my eyes wide like an animal's trapped in a car's headlights, helpless before the onrushing vehicle which will crush the life from its body, and Gregg dropped my other leg and both his hands caught my shoulders and he used that purchase to shove his cock into me, all the way to the base, a solid shaft of flame and agony and his balls slapped my asscheeks and that, only that, stopped his onslaught.
I was panting/groaning, "Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh!" as he held still, his cock buried to its base in my ass.
"Like that, huh, Eddie?" he asked me.
"Oh, oh, oh!" I said. I did like it, but it was tearing me apart at the same time! I couldn't answer, but he took my sounds as affirmation.
"Well, then, you'll love it when I do this." he said to me. And his cock began to slide in and out of my ass.
Pain at first, just pain, with every move. But then as he moved, another element crept in as the pain subsided; it had always been there just buried under the screaming feel of pain. As the pain went away, it rose like a stone on the river bottom as the river level drops, wet, then drying out as the waters recede until it looks like it has always been there, always above the water, smoothly gleaming in the sunlight. In that way did my pleasure supercede my pain, become the dominant feeling in my body as Gregg fucked me, and now my groans turned into unmistakable sounds of pleasure.
I belonged to Gregg now, like I'd always wanted to. He and I would always be together now, always one, a bond that could never be broken. My pleasure surged on this thought, this idea of belonging, of joining, and I rose from pained subservience to pleasured submissive lover to an ecstasy on a level of his own, for he was all afire as he humped my ass, and his groans of pleasure meshed with my own and became a duet we sang together, my own level of passion connected to his, fed off of his joy, until when, he began to hump at me with rapid staccato thrusts and his moans of desire were fast-firing bursts of firework-like sounds, kuh-kuh-kuh! I was right with him, singing a longer, slower melody that meshed with his as my pleasure built in my balls.
"Kuh, kuh, kuh, KH-KH-KH-NGHH!" He groaned out to me and I felt his sperm flash into me with salty spray like ocean water breaking over the prow of a small sailing vessel I had been on, the water landing all over me at once, like that, I knew he had reached his climax and my body hastened to join him in his orgasm.
I clung to him fiercely, him thrashing in ectasy, as I felt my ejaculation explode from my cock, soaking his T-shirt and my chest, him too lost in his own pleasure to see me soiling his clothing, which was smelling of old and new sweat, and with the last bursts of my pleasure still jetting from my body, Gregg stopped and lay down on me heavily, my dribbling seed soaking his bare skin below the T-shirt and his breath was a roar in my ear as he gasped and panted and me still squirming in my own joy, he was sinking into lassitude and quenched satiety.
"Man, oh, man!" Gregg groaned after a time, with me still panting from my lungs' rasping need for air, more air! "That was a great fuck." he said to me.
And he got up, me still weak and trembling, I watched him adjust and pull up his pants, refasten them. "Think your parents are asleep yet?" he asked me.
"I don't know." I said. "You'd better wait a bit longer. Then I'll go check. Mom keeps her purse in her bedroom so I'll have to wait until she's sound asleep."
"Okay." he said, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. "How much money you think she'll have on her."
"Mom usually keeps quite a bit." I said. "A couple of hundred, maybe."
"Good." he said. "I'll need all of it."
"Okay." I said, none too happy. "But why do you have to go away?"
"You'll find out soon enough." He said.
"Okay." I said. "Where will you go?"
"Better if you don't know." he said. "You can't lie about what you don't know."
"Gregg, what's wrong?" I said.
He looked at me. "Eddie, just 'cause I fucked you doesn't entitle you to ask me questions." He said.
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay." He said. After a while, in quiet silence as we waited, he said, "Got to be a big town. I have to hide in the crowds. Better that than another small town. It's how to get there. They'll be looking for my chopper for sure."
I didn't dare ask what he meant, and soon after that, I went into my mother's room and got her purse. It was tricky, but mom sleeps soundly and with Dad in his own room across the hall, I didn't have any real problems, the purse was right where I thought it would be. I pulled out her clutch purse in the hallway, found the money she kept, and the other money she kept in case she needed some for emergencies, and I got it, all of it, about $180.00, and I put the purse back and gave the money to Gregg. He folded the money and put it in his pants pocket and then he took off his jacket and gave it to me. "Keep this for me. Only, I'll need a shirt to wear." He said.
I went to my closet and found a baggy flannel shirt my grandfather had given me on a hunting trip and he put it on, buttoned it up. Then he said, "I won't be contacting you. But I'll keep an eye out for the news." He hitched one leg over the sill of the window and looked back, said, "Edwin, I'm counting on you."
"For what?" I asked, but then he was gone, leaving me his jacket. Later, they found his motorcycle in the forest where it had been left days before. However Gregg left town, he didn't ride the motorcycle, but they had been looking for one on the roads. Then they thought to check the buslines, and found out he had bought a ticket. But that only took them to another town, and from there, they lost track of him. Hitching a ride, riding the train, catching a plane...they couldn't find out.
Gregg was right, I found out. Both his mother and father were dead. Police figured that Gregg had killed his mother some hours earlier, then his father when his father came home.
I didn't believe it. Maybe Gregg had definitely killed his father (they had his prints) but nothing connected him to his mother's murder except that. I think that his father got drunk (his blood level alcohol was high) and killed his mother, and Gregg killed him in anger when he found out. His mother had been savagely beaten, his father with a single blow to the head.
"Edwin, I'm counting on you." he'd said, and I knew why. I spend my days now trying to convince the police what really happened, convince everyone that Gregg didn't kill both his parents, and even his father's was in self-defense (the signs of the struggle told me that clearly enough).
But hardly anyone listens to me. Most of them think, like Mrs. Grommel, that Gregg was "just plain bad." But I don't believe that, and never will. For one thing, Gregg couldn't have had a hand in the liquor store robbery like they'd said, or he wouldn't have needed the money from me that I gave him. But they found some of the whiskey and money when they searched his house.
I know that Gregg's a lot of things that don't make him a nice person. At the very best, he and I made love less than an hour after he had killed his own father. You can't make that the action of a church-going, all-around, "just plain nice" person no matter how you think of it. But still...
I don't anyone is "just plain" anything.
THE END
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E-Mail me at Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM