Full disclosure: The original version of this story was written almost four years ago as my first attempt at writing fiction; I was twenty one years old then and really bad at grammar, punctuation, and background story description.
As an amateur writer, without editing assistance, I still make lots of mistakes but I've done my best to bring this story up to date, to correct many of it's errors in writing, and generally make it a smoother read. I think the story's good which is why I've gone to the trouble of rewriting/editing it the best I'm able. If you're interested in gay high school boys coming of age and finding out who they are sexually, and how they deal with all of it, you'll likely enjoy this story.
D.M.
MIKE and RICHIE
(previously known as: "MIKE, HIS BIKE, and ME")
CHAPTER ONE
by Donny Mumford
"Keep your mouth shut! I'm trying to think." I shut my mouth, then nervously bite my bottom lip anxiously waiting for Mike to make up his mind about my suggestion. I've only known him for a few weeks but I'm getting kind of familiar with what he expects. Hell, I'm used to being told to keep my mouth shut anyway, and not just by Mike, so that's no big deal. Even though Mike and I are both sixteen I sorta look up to him, and try to please him. Often though I end up doing the opposite and annoy him instead. Just a couple of minutes ago I made a suggestion but I used poor judgment blurting it out with all the guys standing around. I should have waited until Mike and I were alone 'cause he treats me differently when it's just him and me.
I have regular friends too, not just Mike and the gang. Well, by regular I mean my buddies from my old neighborhood when I lived with my mother. That was in Melten, Pennsylvania; a suburb of Philadelphia. I guess those guys still qualify as my friends although I'll probably never see them again. The point is, I never felt I needed to please them; we were all sort of equal. That's all in the past for me now though; a couple of months ago my mother moved in with her asshole boyfriend and I wasn't allowed to be part of the package. She choose him over me and sent me packing to live with my father here in Wildwood, New Jersey. Wildwood's a summer resort town; thousands of people flock here to enjoy the sun, the beaches, and the boardwalk. That's in the good part of town, we live in a more run down section of Wildwood where everyday life is harsher. The tourist rarely venture where we live. Why my father chose to live here is a mystery to me; he works as a blackjack dealer in a casino in Atlantic city. When I asked him why doesn't he live there, he said, " Because I don't, that's why!" Very illuminating.....
Even before I moved in with him permanently, the last six years I spent my summers here and it's never been much fun. for the past six years. After the divorce my old man seemed sullen and hasn't been much of a father to me. Mother wasn't much as a mother either, but at least she didn't smack me like dad does occasionally. Mostly mother ignored me and now she doesn't even need to do that. My summers here have been lonely affairs because there aren't any kids close to my age around here; my past efforts to make friends on the boardwalk haven't been successful either. Almost all of those kids are only here for a few weeks vacation, then they go back to their own homes, wherever that might be. Now that I'm here year round I feel desperate for a friend, but in the early going I'm still having no luck in that department. Then, one hot day in June I met Mike and, oh man, we really got off to a rocky start. He was sitting on his motorbike across the street from our house with me up on the railing of our little front porch, daydreaming. I heard someone call out, "Hey, you! Come here a second." I looked up and noticed him then. He's a tall kid; about six feet, and lean like me. Like I said, he's sitting on his motor bike staring in my direction so I look around to see if maybe he's calling to someone else, then I called over to him, "What's that?" He yelled, "Are you deaf? Get your ass over here!" Squinting my eyes at him, I wondered if I knew him somehow. He agitatedly waved at me to come over and so, what the hell, I got up and walked across the street, to ask, "Were you calling me over, or...?. "Do you see anybody else around, numbnuts?" he responded sarcastically. Then, without waiting for me to reply, he told me to hold the motorbike by the handle bars while he untangles his pant leg which had gotten caught on the kick stand. I got hold of the bike and this kid goes to town trying to free his pants. After some cursing, he finally ripped a piece off the pant leg, screaming, "Fucking piece of shit!" Then he kicked the bike so hard I almost lost my hold on it. Temper, temper!
Without looking at me, in a calmer voice, he asks, "Do you have a cigarette?" I told him I don't smoke and he'd muttered something about me being a fag. He acted so tough, but he didn't look tough. His light blond hair is buzz cut real short and he wore a small hoop earring in each ear. Other than that he has kind of a sunburned baby-face teenager look about him. I didn't know what to make of him then, and I don't know much more now, two weeks later. Back then, for something to say, I'd asked him if he lived around here; I was thinking maybe we could hook-up and hang out together or something. He looked at me, cocking his head a little bit to the side, and said, "You're not retarded are you?" I frowned at that unnecessary rude question, as he add, "What'd ya think, I flew in from far off, just me and my bike, so I could get my pants tangled-up in front of where you live. Is that what you think?" My jaw dropped open as I tried absorbing this unwarranted rudeness. Why's he pissed-off at me? I remember saying to him, trying for humor, "Duh, does that mean you do live around here?" I chuckled a little to show I was kidding, thinking, "Jeez, I must really be desperate for a friend!" He gave me a dismissive look, like I'm not worth his time, pulled the bike away from my hands. I stayed put, fascinated by him as he stomped down on a lever and the bike roared to life. His back tire squealed on the side walk as he took off, neglecting to say "thank you" for my help. In fact, he ran over the my right foot instead; surprisingly, that didn't do any damage... not that he'd have cared if it did. I had another chuckle as I walked back across the street, thinking, "There's a good chance we're not gonna become close friends after all."
I didn't see him again for a week and by then I'd put that episode out of my mind. My thoughts centered around getting use to my new home. During the high point of vacation here in Wildwood over 250,000 people will crowd into a town that holds just under 5,500 during the off season, which is October to May. It's not a great place to live if you ask me; so far nobody's asked me. My dad's assigned chores for me to do and he pays me to do them. Basically I'm replacing the cleaning firm he'd previously employed to keep the four rooms and bath reasonable clean. Plus, every morning I walk to a convenience store to buy him coffee and a Danish and cigarettes. I also empty trash and change the bed linens and do the wash. What the hell, I do everything, although to be honest, it only takes about an hour a day. I'm conscientious about doing this stuff because my reward is $50 a week if I do a good job. Dad is tall and strong with a big gut. He's 48 years old but looks older because of his gray hair and red scrunched-up 'drinkers' face. Okay, maybe some woman might think he's ruggedly handsome. I take after my Mother where appearance is concerned. Her good looks are basically her only redeeming feature. I have light brown hair and green eyes and an awesome winning smile... ha ha; that's even if I do say so myself. The old man doesn't look at me too much because he says I remind him of mom. Dad's not a lot of laughs, but he's okay with me as long as I do what I'm suppose to do, and stay out of his way. He never asks how my day went; he never asks anything which can be good sometimes, and then not so good other times I don't believe dad's dated woman (or men) since the divorce; he usually spends his free time at a local bar drinking beer and smoking cigarettes. As near as I can figure from the little he says: he likes arguing politics and shooting pool with his cronies. Once in a while I'll fix us dinner and we'll eat together, but usually we eat separately whatever and whenever we feel like it. As a 'parental unit he pretty much sucks; on the other hand, I like the freedom his lack of parenting allows. When I moved in with him my mom tells me, by way of a goodbye, "Maybe I'll call you sometime Richie, ya know, to see how you're doing. Don't piss off your father, he's not as nice as I am. See ya, Kiddo." And that was that. No hug or kiss, I waved weakly and got on the bus with my few possessions.
The first couple of days I spent time looking around the immediate neighborhood but didn't see any kids at all, never mind kids my age. Then, a week or so later I had my initial run in with the tall kid and his bike. After that, no contact with anyone close to my age. Each day after all my chores were done I'd go walking, getting reacquainted with the neighborhood. When I'd familiarized myself with the immediate neighborhood, I started working my way towards the beach. The temperature is usually near 90 degrees during the sunny part of the day so the walking is hot and not a lot of fun, it's just that I've nothing better to do. A week into my exploration I finally reach the boardwalk; total walking time is about 40 minutes. Beyond the boardwalk is the the beach and then the Atlantic ocean. The boardwalk, beach, and ocean stretch to my right and my left as far as the eye can see. I've seen it all before of course, but it's still pretty impressive. After taking in the panorama view I went up the ramp to the boardwalk and right away spot that sunburned, baby-faced kid again; he was acting as cocky as ever. I recognized him immediately; he was with two other
kids about our age who looked tough. One, a skinny redheaded kid, and the other a mousey brown haired chubby kid. They both have buzz cuts like babe-face, but these other two also have a nasty tattoo or two, plus the hoop earrings and other piercings, and most of all... they had attitude! Pirates came to mind... perhaps that's what they hoped they're projecting. They're all wearing jeans, black sneakers and black T-shirts with different logos. I had on raggedy Bermuda shorts and a sleeveless T shirt and old sandals on my feet. I thought it best to avoid those three, although if the bike kid had been alone I would have said "Hi" at least. The other two had bad news written all over them so I turned around to walk back down the ramp off the boardwalk when I hear "Hey you! Numbnuts. Get over here!" I'm thinking, "Fuck!" Oh well, what the hell, I saunter over to their little fun group wondering what baby face needs now. Even though it's a long shot, these could be friends... ya never know.
When I'm ten feet away, baby face says, "Well, if it ain't the smart aleck, wise-ass. What the fuck you doing following me around? Are you queer for me or something? You stalking me; is that it?" Perhaps a potential friendship developing between us might be a much longer 'long shot' than I initially thought. When ill at ease I stutter sometimes, and this was one of those times, "Na, no, no! I'm na, not following you. Don't be ridiculous. I, I had no idea you'd be here, how could I?" Right back at me, he goes, "What the fuck you talking about? I was here first, and then you show up. That's what", and he puts up his quotation fingers, "following someone' is all about. Don't you know what the words means?" His absurd question leaves me with this goofy frowning expression on my face, dumbfounded by his bizarre logic. I'm trying to think of something to say when his arm snaps out and he grabs a fistful of my hair; then, using his knuckles he pressed against my head and almost pulls my hair out by the roots. My eyes start tearing immediately, I'm like, "Please, dude, don't... please stop! That really fucking hurts." The redhead kid asks, in a semi-lisping manner, "This faggot been following you around, Mike?" That's the first time I'd heard his name... Mike. He then uses his other hand to pinch my nose real hard with his thumb and index finger, asking "Well, aren't you following me around, ya smart ass?" I'm in pain with tears flowing down my face, not from crying; it's an involuntary reaction. Mike continues pinching my nose until mucus drools down my upper lip. It's hard to say anything with my nostrils pinched, but I managed "Nskew, I not follow yues." "What the fuck kind of language is that?" Mike asks, with a phony concerned look on his face. He let go of my nose then, but deliberately and slowly dragged his index finger through the mucus all along my upper lip and then down my top lip with his finger catching the top of my bottom lip pulling it inside out, flat against my chin exposing my bottom teeth and gums. Moving his face real close to mine, looking sincere, he says, "You have very white teeth." Then he rubs his dirty finger all along my bottom teeth and up under my top lip and across my front teeth. His breath smells like cigarettes and Juicy Fruit gum.
The hair pulling has become a dull ache by now, but I still couldn't move my head. Both my hands loosely hold onto Mike's wrist; the one pulling my hair. I can smell the nicotine on his fingers as he pushes one of them inside my mouth, then all over my tongue. "Don't bite my finger, numbnuts. You'd probably like to bite my dick though, right?" I talked around his finger, saying, "No Mike, I don't want to bite anything. Really! Please let go of my hair." In that phony sincere manner, he says, "Oh, it's okay, you can call me Mike? What's your name, numbnuts?" I stupidly gave him my full proper name, "I'm Richard Mealy," and he goes, "Richard?" smirking at his friends who giggle at the formality of "Richard". Mike goes, "Are you shitting me, Richard? Is that's what everyone calls you? You aren't a fag, are you, Richard?" Why I didn't tell him my name is "Richie" I can't say, no one ever calls me Richard. I've been called 'Richie' all my life. He's got me totally fucked up, but I finally managed to say, "My friends call me Richie" "You going to buy us a pack of cigarettes, Richard?" asks the redhead, still using that strange lisping voice. The chubby boy and Mike thought this a grand idea, and Mike tells me I can join his gang except first I need to stop stalking him, and second I need to buy a pack of Marlboro Lights 100s, right now. "Okay, Richard?" I'm dumbfounded again and say nothing, so Mike repeats himself, "Richard, you good with this?" I go, "Sure, yes, okay, but please let go of my hair." Mike let's go with a shove on my shoulder and I stumble, almost falling. The guys chuckle, and say, "Whoops, easy there, Richard!" My scalp tingles where Mike had yanked my hair as I stupidly stare at Mike's hand where maybe a dozen of my hairs got pulled out of my head and are stuck to his fingers. He sees them too, and yells, "Ewww, get your hairs off my hand, Richard!" Holding his hand out I brush it with my hand, knocking off the hairs, rolling my eyes at how dumb all this is.
Dumb, yes, but just the same this whole thing with Mike is beginning to give me a buzzing feeling in my belly, and I'm slightly lightheaded. My hairs float away in the breeze as Mike takes hold of my hand and holds it like a boy and girl hold hands. "Is this what you wanted to do, Richard? Hold my hand?" It felt so odd holding hands with another boy, but the buzzing, dizzy feeling accelerated. He continues looking me in the eyes, holding my hand without anyone saying anything. I take a deep breathe, and then another one; it's all so unusual, so totally different than anything that's ever happened to me before and I don't know what to do about it. The whole mugging, if that's what it is, has taken less then two minutes. Mike, I suppose, sees I'm not going to react, so he drops my hand, and says,impatiently, like he's finally bored with the whole matter, "Right over there, Richard...that store sells everything, including cigarettes. Marlboro Lights 100s. Don't forget the matches, and don't think about trying to run off." Then Mike looks at his two buddies and shakes his head, saying, "Fuck, what am I thinking? He's not running anywhere; are you Richard?" Using both hands he slaps me on both my shoulders, as I'm mumbling, "No, I wouldn't run off." I'm in a kind of trance. When it seems he's done with me, I start for the store. "Wait a second, Richard!" Mike's apparently getting his second wind. "You're all sloppy looking, Richard. You don't want to be all sloppy looking buying us cigarettes, do you? Now, you just stand there so I can straighten you out. Your hair's a mess, Richard." Both his friends watch everything intently, grins on their faces, snickering and nudging each other with each indignity Mike drops on me. Using both hands, Mike ruffles my hair and when I lift my hands to push his away, he grabs my jaw in a tight grip and tells me to keep my hands down at my sides. He's hurting my jaw so I comply, and he murmurs, "Good boy, Richard," then goes back to patting my head and running his fingers through my hair, and up the back of my head. For some odd reason my dick firmed up, firmed enough that I was worried I'd spring a boner and push out the front of my flimsy shorts. When Mike finally finishes with my hair, it's sticking up all over my head. He steps back to view his work, smirks at his friends, and begins touching all over my face with both hands, then another squeeze of my shoulders, and finally, using both hands, he tugs up the waist band of my basketball shorts giving me a tight wedgie. I go, "Ooh!" as my nuts get squished. The guys chuckle as I wait for another indignity, my dick firm and feeling strangely good.
Maybe thirty seconds go by, then Mike says, "Okay, Richard, what are you waiting for? You look good now. I got you looking all better. Run over and get our cigarettes and report right back here. Chop chop!" The oddest thing; I'd felt that buzzing earlier and wondered what it was, but now I know for sure: my balls are buzzing and my cock is almost bone hard from being bullied by this uniquely attractive boy. Thankfully my hard on is covered pretty much by my T shirt. I simply can't believe or explain this boner; usually I need to pull my pud for a couple of minutes to get a boner this hard. I walk to the store in a daze; buying the cigarettes I get a shock. On the boardwalk Marlboro Lights 100's are $9.00 a pack. I've never smoked and therefore I'm only vaguely aware of their cost, but certainly I didn't expect they'd be this much! Nothing to be done about it now though; just pay for them and hopefully buy my release from Mike-the-bully. Now that I'm away from Mike it seems absurd I sprung that boner!
Fuck it! All I want is to get the off this boardwalk. Back to the happy trio I go; they ignore me for a couple of minutes as Mike finishes telling a meandering story about a tomato farm, then he acknowledges my presents by nodding his head in the direction of the redhead. I hand the cigarettes to Reds because he has his hand out. Red opens the pack and passes them around, as Mike's asking, "Richard, where are the matches?" I shrug, and mumble, "They didn't give me any." He's pointing at the store, "Go back and get the matches, Richard. We can't smoke without matches. That's how you light a cigarette, Richard, with a match; unless you want to buy us a lighter." Shaking my head 'no' to the idea of buying them a lighter, I go back to the busy store for matches, then back across the boardwalk to hand the pack to Mike. My boner is just a pleasant memory by now. Everyone lights their cigarette; including me as they've insisted I join them. I have no fight in me at all by now and I take the cigarette and the light without arguing about it. My first inhale almost had me passing out from coughing. How can that thin wispy smoke hurt my lungs so badly? Mike, Reds, and the other one laugh hysterically. They make me finish that cigarette, then one more after that. I took only tiny inhales, then blew the smoke right out, trying to keep it out of my lungs. Some got in my lungs anyway and I felt slightly nauseous by the time I was done the second disgusting cancer stick. "You smoke like a girl, Richard. You're not a girl are you because you can't join our gang if you've got a cunt." I assured him, "No, Mike, I'm not a girl." He goes, "Okay then, Richard, run along now; your first gang meeting is over. Wasn't it fun, Richard?" I mutter, "Yes, it was fun," then wait for a few seconds expecting Mike to have something else for me to do, but he waves his hands at me like he's shooing away seagulls, saying, "Go, go, go! The meeting's over, Richard." I slink away, then down the ramp off the boardwalk to head for home; on the way I thought about what happened. I was bullied and made to spend my precious money on their cigarettes, and somewhere along the line I'd sprung a boner... that's the oddest thing ever! And, Mike didn't say "Thank you" to me this time either, and it's the second favor I've done for him.
It's no laughing matter of course and I felt sick; a little from the cigarettes and a lot because of the wimpy way I acted. I'm confused why Mike has such an affect on me though; I don't even know him; why's he so mean to me? I'm puzzled alright, but I can't think what to do about it except make a pact with myself to stay away from the boardwalk; avoid the bullying of Mike and the mocking chuckles of his so-called gang. Not being able to go on the boardwalk really pisses me off though because I had big plans for re-exploring all up and down it's entire length, and maybe making a friend in the process. There's so many different and interesting things on the boardwalk, things to see and enjoy: amusement rides, a million different food stands and junk shops, and beach supplies and cool clothing shops, and salt water taffy, and music and penny arcades, and fudge that's made right in front of your eyes, oh hell, everything you can think of is on the boardwalk. I like wandering up and down it's length, but for now I better stay clear of it because I don't see how any good can come of running into my 'gang' again.
In coming days I worried I'd run into Mike, but after a week I was less diligent and, of course, I ran into him. It was outside the convenience store I go to every morning for the old man's coffee, Danish, and cigarettes. I wasn't paying attention and bumped into the redheaded kid as he and Mike were coming out of the store. Mike's bike was right there to be seen if I hadn't been in a fog. "Richard! Richard! Richard!" he says, "you missed the last gang meeting. Where ever do you hide, Richard? We haven't seen you around in ages." Mike's right in front of me, walking at me, and I'm backing up until I'm backed up against the outside wall of the store. He stays up close to me, all over my space if ya know what I mean. His energetic greeting has me flustered again as I try to say "Hi," but it catches in my throat and comes out like a squeak. Mike's chest is bumping mine, as he goes, "Richard, I asked you a question." Before I can answer he grabs a fist full of my crotch. He's captured my nuts and a part of my cock, squeezing tightly, and I go, "Please Mike, that's wicked painful," as I'm bending over at the waist. Mike massaged my crotch more gently, my forehead resting against Mike's chest; he ruffles my hair like he did on the boardwalk. When I've caught my breathe and relaxed slightly, he lets up on my balls and I straighten up. Mike looks at me mischievously, then cups behind my hand with his free hand, and pulls my head against against shoulder, the side of my forehead up against his cheek. He whispers, "Am I hurting your nuts?" I start straightening and pulling away from him so he grabs the waistband of my flimsy nylon basketball shorts pulling me up tight against him. In the same quick motion he let go of my balls for a split second, quickly grabbing just my cock; he's holding it with two fingers and his thumb. Every unexpected thing he does keeps me totally off balance, and at his mercy.
Using two fingers and his thumb he strokes up and down on my flabby cock a few times."Hows that feel, Richard? Ya know, Tony here says you had some tenting in your britches the last gang meeting, and I says to him, 'Tony, ya don't think Richard's some kind of queer or something, do ya?' and he says he does. Can ya imagine that?" Mike gently strokes my cock and, as he talks in his sarcastic manner, I'm getting the beginnings of a boner which soon has me gasping for air. His strong hold on my waistband keeps me tight up against him so that our faces rub together. I can't move away from him and his continual gentle massaging of my now totally hard cock gets me grunting and blushing like crazy. My face burns a bright red color as my boner tries raising up to point at my chin. My hands are holding onto Mike's waist and I almost want to put my arms around him. I'm fully boned now as Mike does full swift strokes on my boner; the head of my cock has slipped out of the pee slit of my boxers and is rubbing against the inside of my silky shorts; each stroke of my cock creates sensations all around my groin and has me squirming in Mike's grasp.
"Jeez, Richard, are you fucking deaf? I asked you how this feels." All I could say was "Please don't...Ahh ohh! Please stop! It's, um..." We were very close together with him pulling me into him with that strong waistband grip. I could smell his cigarette breath on my face; now I was aware of Mike and my cock and that's about all there was in my world. He held me there for a couple of minutes as the redheaded kid sort of blocked us from the view of the casual observer; oddly, the whole scene began to have an erotic affect on me. Mike tightened his strokes and I knew there's no chance I could stop my organism now; I'm very close to spunking in my drawers, but I gave it one last try. "Please stop Mike...I'll buy you another pack of cigarettes..Ahh Ah Ah Ah...!" I couldn't even finish my sentence, I went up on my toes with the feeling of
climax coming on me fast. Mike's face touches the side of mine, as he whisper, "This feel good, Richard?" I was beyond talking as a squirt of cum shoots from my boner and quickly wets through my pants. "Aghh ohh" as another long squirt floods my shorts and I just give up and squeeze out three smaller squirts." I was pretty much laying against Mike's body by now. The redhead yells, "Look at that! The fag wet his pants." Hearing the commotion, an older couple on the other side of the street looked over at us, but they couldn't have heard what was said and it's unlikely they'd ever guess what was going on.
Mike held the waistband for another minute or so as he breathed in and out quickly with short hot bursts, I could feel his heart beating as he held me against him, then he let out a long exhale and slowly let go of me, asking,
"Did you just cum in your pants, Richard?" For the first time in years I felt like crying; there's a big wet cum spot spreading out on the front of my shorts. I think maybe even Mike was embarrassed for me this time. He left it at that. None of us knew what to do next. Mike had a guilty look on his face as he starts to turn away, then he did one last grab of my head; he got it between both his hands, and quietly says, "Look at me, Richard." Our eyes met, and in almost a whisper, he asks, "You okay?" I just barely nod my head, trying to decide what that look in his eyes meant. His parting remark was, " Geez, Richard, I didn't know I turned you on so much. Don't miss our next gang meeting. Okay? .... Okay?" I nod my head, in a sort of trance, then turn around and go back to the house to change my shorts. The humiliation was huge, but it had only involved Mike and the redhead, who I think is Tony. I rationalized that I didn't care what those two thought....fuck them! But, I did need to consider the fact that I spunked in my pants being jerked-off by another boy, and it happened really fast too; a lot quicker then when I jerk myself off. No one has ever touched my cock that I know of, except me, until now. Well, technically Mike didn't touch my cock; my shorts and boxer underwear had been between his hand and my dick, as if that makes it okay... I shook my head at that.
Dad's in the shower when I run into the house so I avoided a slap in the face at least. Quickly changing my shorts and underwear, I'm thinking about Mike's hand around my cock and again my dick gets firm and feels squirmy. What the fuck? I'm not queer! Making myself think about other things I ran back to the convenience store to buy the old man's breakfast stuff. My goal was to completely forget about the jerk off, but that was easier said then done. At times later that day I'd replay my experiences with Mike and try to make sense of it. For example, why don't I hate Mike for the cruel bully that he is? Okay, maybe hate's too strong a word; how 'bout despise. Why don't I despise that bastard or at least feel really, really angry? Why, instead, do I feel funny in my tummy when I think about leaning against Mike while he jerked me off? I tried to figure out what that's all about, but couldn't come up with any answers; just total confusion. Mike is a totally new experience in my life and that's as far as my analysis got to. Him being gay doesn't seem likely; too macho, and his playmates aren't the gay type either; not that I'm an expert on gay types. It's more likely Mike's one of those gay 'basher' guys! Oh hell, this whole subject simply isn't something that's ever come up in my circle of friends; when I had friends, that is. I've never known gay guys or gay bashers.
Continuing to analyze the gay angle, I thought of a few years ago when my two best buddies and me were having weekly circle jerks. We were about 13 at the time and the circle jerks didn't last for more than a couple of months 'cause Dougie said it was too queer. I don't recall being particularly disappointed we stopped doing it. Here's something else: what do I usually think about when I'm jerking off? Hmmmm?...what do I think about? I guess, nothing... except how good it feels. Maybe I should be thinking about girls while I'm doing it; well, at least I'm not thinking about boys. In the bathroom later that evening before my shower, I had my usual wank and it was feeling pretty good; I wasn't thinking about anything particularly. Then, as an experiment I thought of Mike stroking my pecker and right away my cock swelled. I was soon grunting and fisting my cock in a blur, then quickly shooting off a stream of cum that came out with such force it burned my pee hole. Now I'm really confused, and a little bit scared too. Why would thinking about that bully make me cum like a race horse? I'm embarrassed to say I cried a few dumb tears for a minutes or so, feeling afraid and confused again, also I felt sorry for myself for some reason. Stupid!
Over the next few days I went 'on line' many times trying to find out what's wrong with me. There's so much information there, lots of it conflicting too, so it's pretty much useless to me; I don't know how to tell which is correct. Sadly, there isn't anyone I can talk to about this. Then I got the urge to connect with my buddies from my old neighborhood, just to touch base with something normal, or what used to be normal. I texted with a few kids, none of them are gay as far as I know, and even if they were gay, what would I say to them? I mean, what would I be willing to share about my 'Mike' experiences? The boys texted back eventually but it seems they've already moved on without their old buddy, Richie. I guess that shouldn't be a surprise, but it makes me feel really lonely just the same. It's pointless, a waste of time to look to my past for help with my future. And, anyway, how does a single encounter with another boy jerking me off change me into a homo? That don't make any sense!
In coming days I tried thinking about other boys while jerking off and the results were inconclusive. However, thinking about Mike while jerking was definitely conclusive. With Mike in my head I climax like a fire hose, and it feels incredibly awesome. The awesome feeling doesn't last long though; I don't want to be gay, so after climaxing I make myself think of anything but Mike and then, the very next jerk-off something will pop into my mind, like his baby face will flash by, and it really excites me. Or, I'd think about how the palm of his hand felt when he held my hand on the boardwalk that time, any thought of him soon gets me spurting cum all over the place! Damn! After a week I stopped trying to analyze the whole mess and came up with another plan. Now I want to run into Mike again, just to see what happens. I have no expectation of what might happen, but maybe whatever it is it will clear up something; clear up anything. Oh fuck... I guess I just want to see him again. It isn't much of a plan, 'find Mike!' but it's all I got. It soon became apparent, however, that he isn't easy to find but at least I'm free to explore the boardwalk again. So many people walking the boards and I don't know any of them. I'm beginning to have real lonely periods; not actual depression I don't think, but I'm sad and lonely. I now realize now how much my friends had meant to me back home, but that was then and this is now. The guys I used to hang with are already paying less attention to me every day. When we email it's more them telling me about the new stuff in their lives; for example, they talk about the 'chick' that moved into me and my mother's old place. She's hot, they say. The chick, not my mother. My old friends are moving on and leaving me behind. There's nothing I can do about it except what I'm already doing, which is feel sad and lonely. Life really, really sucks!!
It had been a week or more since I last saw Mike, or any of his so called gang. Then, one day as I explored way down the far end of the boardwalk, Mike came into my life again. What happened was this: I'm walking along the boardwalk when I see two real bad ass looking dudes about 25 years old, they're painting the front of a hot dog stand. Both guys had their shirts off showing tattoos almost as ugly as their mean faces; they might be Hispanic. Whatever... I'm thinking how "I better get the hell back to a safer part of the boardwalk," when the heavy set badass looked over at me, and asks, "What the fuck yuse looking at, trolo? ... ya skinny mother fucker?" I stared at him a second, thinking to myself, "I hate this god damned town with a passion!" To his rude question, I replied, "Not much..." and he says, "Come on over here, I wanna show ya sumpting". I start to turn away and that's when I saw Mike. He's walking towards me, half a block away, wearing cool blue sunglasses and eating a cone of soft ice cream. Mike called out in a calm voice, "Richard... come towards me. Don't go near those assholes." I stare at him; he'd just gotten a fresh buzz cut and his sunburn has faded to tan; he looked awesome, and cool! I froze, staring at him, my legs feeling weak and my dick tingling. Mike's natural swagger was very evident as he throws his cone in a trash container and continues walking slowly towards me, a tense expression on his face. A chill ran down my back as I realized there's danger in the air....
to be continued.....
Donny Mumford thinkat20@yahoo.com