Powell and Me 3
This is a work of fiction. It includes scenes of sex between teen boys. No resemblance to persons living or dead is intended. If you are underage, or if possession of this text is illegal in your area, leave now. Some of the activities
described in this story may cause injury or transmit diseases, including HIV. Please play safe--I don't want to lose any fans!
If you enjoy this site, be cool and click the "Donate" link at the top of the index and contribute to maintain it!
Looking for more of my stories? I'm honored. Enter "chainedcoot" on Nifty's Search page.
Authors retain rights to and title to their submitted works. (Please consult Nifty's submission guidelines for more information.) And feedback is always welcome!
Powell and Me 3
I heard Alan Nordman's chair move back, saw him throw two dollars on the table. "Be good, guys," he whispered, and then he was gone. I just kept looking at Powell, wondering if my words were still ringing in his head like his were, in mine. We looked at each other without moving, without blinking or anything, for the longest time. In a movie, this would be the fadeout.
"I don't know what to do, now," he said, at last.
I smiled. "Could we go somewhere? I have to be home by six, though. My mom's pretty intense about us all eating supper together."
"My mom doesn't get home 'til nine," Powell whispered. "But if my dad found out...I know! The boathouse!"
"You guys have a boathouse?"
"Come on," Powell said, crisply. He was already on his feet. He grabbed one of the dollars and hurried for the door and I scrambled after him. We left the pizza place, cut through an alley, and two blocks later we were standing in front of a rusted chain-link fence. Trash, weeds and a line of trees hid whatever lay beyond. Powell led me to a break in the fence, and we crawled between some struggling bushes that squatted on either side of the break like exhausted sentinels. I followed him through the tall weeds, which opened in front of him and closed behind me almost like water. Just as we neared the trees, the ground began to slope down, and soon we were standing at the edge of a sluggish, trash-littered drainage ditch at the foot of an anonymous brick wall. A few yards to our left was a distorted thing of wood that might have served as a shed or a space ship, a castle or a secret lair.
Inside, afternoon sun found gaps between boards and made streaks across the ground. Powell turned to me. "Here we are," he announced. "The boathouse!"
"Doesn't look like a boathouse," I said, puzzled.
"Doesn't look like anything," Powell answered. "So it doesn't really matter."
"I guess not."
We stood about three feet apart, looking at each other. I remembered our first meeting, how terrified I was of the muscled hunk in front of me, and how pathetically defenseless I felt. "What ... do you want to do?" I asked.
"Why don't you get naked, maybe?"
"Okay." I took off my jacket and unbuttoned my shirt, then untied my shoes and took them off. I took off my shirt and my undershirt and piled them on my jacket. I felt Powell watching me. I dropped my pants and worked my feet free. One sock came off, so I took the other one off, too, and there I was in my underpants, terrified and hard.
Powell moved closer. Streaks of sunlight fell across his body like they were caressing it. "You're kind of skinny," he said.
I nodded. "Yeah. I look like a girl."
"No. No tits. You're ... pretty, maybe."
"Thanks!" I could feel myself turning bright red. "Not like ... like a boy, though, huh?"
"Well ... down there, you're a boy, for sure." His face tightened for a second, then relaxed again. "I like your smile."
I was smiling? "I like yours, too. You look--" I caught myself just before I said beautiful. "It makes you look like a movie star, maybe."
"You got a big cock."
I glanced down at my stretched underpants. "Mike Silver's is bigger, I think. And yours, probably."
Powell looked down at his bulge, then at mine. "I don't know." He opened his jeans and tucked his underpants behind his balls. "They're pretty close."
I tried to talk without breathing. "Yours is ... fatter, I think. Can I ..."
"Sure." Powell grinned, and this time it was playful, maybe.
I held his cock in one hand while I freed my own. "Yours feels different."
"Duh! Let me try."
I let go and gasped as his hand took my shaft. It wasn't just his grip. His hand was rougher, more like a man's, I guess. I whimpered, in spite of myself.
"Too hard?"
I shook my head rapidly. "No! Feels good!"
Powell pulled his hand away, spat on it, and gripped me again. "How's this?"
I nodded my head, realized my eyes had closed, and made a noise that meant, "God, yes!"
"Do me," Powell whispered.
I spat and took hold of his rod. It was like it was made of bronze, or something. I could feel everything-- the little ridge along the bottom, and the blood vessels, and the hair at the base, and the tug of his nuts swinging from my strokes, and the ridge around the head.
Powell dropped his pants and shorts. "Yeah, faggot!" he whispered. "Do me! Both hands, faggot!"
I dropped my own cock, spit on my hand again, and went to work. Powell put his hands on my shoulders and pressed. I went to my knees, my eyes locked on his shaft, which looked enormous.
"Oh, yeah," he said, peeling off his jacket and his shirt. I thought he was going to peel off his undershirt, but suddenly he crushed himself against me and his cock exploded onto my face and his chest and my hair. My nose was full of his smell and my cock shot between his legs and on his dropped jeans.
"Whoa! I must have cum a gallon!" he laughed. "Let go for a sec." The words didn't make sense until Powell eased his cock out of my grip. "You're a horny little faggot, huh?"
I nodded, gasping. I dropped back and stared up at him, shadow and bright with sunlight sparkling through holes in the roof above us. "Was I good?" I whispered.
What happened next was weird. I could see Powell's face hardening, like a wall going up. It got tighter, somehow, and his eyes seemed to retreat. "This's just between us, right? You know what happens if--"
"Sure, Danny! I--"
"Don't you ever call me that! Ever!! Or I'll tear your faggot tongue right out of your mouth! Get the fuck away from me!"
I scrambled backwards, stumbling over my clothes, and grabbed them to me like some sort of shield. I watched Powell rip off his undershirt and start wiping his chest.
"Goddamn queer faggot creep!" he yelled, throwing the shirt at me. "Get the fuck away from me!"
"Okay, man! Just let me get--"
"Get out of here!" Powell was practically screaming. I ran out of the boathouse and around to the side, where I tried to untangle my stuff. Nothing made sense, but that didn't matter: the important thing was to get away! As soon as I could, I started up the hill, through the trees. I got to the grassy part and looked around. There was no sign of any path, or anything, so I just headed forward. I'd have to hit the fence, eventually. Then, I could follow it to those bushes and find the break--I turned to look behind me, just in time to see Powell emerge from the trees. Instinctively, I dropped to the ground, then carefully raised my head just far enough to see. Powell push his way through the grass about twenty yards away, headed for the fence. He wasn't looking for me, as far as I could see. So I just watched him until I saw him at the bushes. He disappeared between them.
I got up slowly and got my clothes in order. For a moment, I studied a mysterious extra shirt, then realized it was Powell's, sticky with his cum. I started to throw it away, then stopped. "Why?" I asked myself. It was maybe the only bit of Danny Powell I'd have to remember this by. I just let myself cry as I waded toward the break in the fence.
I checked Wilson Street before I came out of the alley, but Powell was nowhere in sight. I got to the bus stop and sat down. My legs trembled, whether from the exercise or something else, I didn't know. I fell into a sort of haze, boarded the bus and sat like a robot or something, got off and walked to my house and didn't make myself wake up until I got to our front porch.
"Eddie? Is that you?"
"Hi, Mom."
"You're late. Your father will be home any minute."
"Be right there, Mom." I scrambled up the stairs before she had a chance to see me and ran to the bathroom. As I'd expected, I was a mess. I stripped, washed my hands and face, ran to my room and threw everything into my laundry bag--except for Powell's shirt. I rolled that up and put it in the back of my night table drawer. Then I got dressed. All my school pants looked pretty much alike, and maybe Mom wouldn't notice I had a different shirt on. "I'll just say it was sweaty," I told myself on the way downstairs. Dad came in the front door just as I got to the bottom of the steps. "Hi, Dad!"
Dad jumped at my over-energetic greeting, then smiled. "Hi, Eddie! School must have been pretty good, today."
"Yeah!" I grinned, following his lead.
"Supper's ready, you two!" Mom called.
"Well? Tell me about it," Dad said, when we'd dished up all our food.
"Huh?"
"School. What's got you so excited?"
School. I must have gone to school today. Something, oh for god's sake think of something! "I ... um ..."
"Well, whatever it was, he stayed late," Mom said. "I've told you to call home if you're going to be late, Edward."
"Oh! Yeah, sorry. I forgot. I was ... helping this new kid with homework. Catching up and all that, you know? From out of state. At his house? With him? I lost track of the time. He's from California. Nice guy. Needed help with math, and ... Social Studies and stuff. Just getting settled in, you know." Stop talking! "Catching up. You know?"
"What part of California?" Dad asked.
"Um, I forgot. Some little town near Los Angeles, maybe."
"Well, that was very nice of you, Eddie. You should invite him over for supper!" Mom's voice turned darker. "But remember to call, next time!"
"I'm really sorry, Mom. It won't happen again."
"So," said Dad, "This new friend of yours. Is he an athlete? Tell us about him. Does he have a name?"
"Dan--Donnie! Donnie. Well, he's just getting settled, like I said. So I don't know--probably into sports, yeah."
"Good! Maybe he can help you get a little meat on your bones."
"Dear," Mom said, with that little warning tone.
"A healthy mind in a healthy body, right Eddie?"
"Yes, Dad. Pass the carrots, please." I made a production out of serving myself the carrots, then crammed them into my mouth. As I'd hoped, Mom and Dad got onto another subject pretty quickly. I wonder what they'd say if Danny Powell came to dinner.
If I was a normal guy, I would have been happy with just getting off, maybe. I did get off, after all. My cum was in his jeans. I smiled, imagining what it would have felt like, when he took them off, all stuck to him.
I'm dead.
In the morning, I woke up and everything was different, somehow, even though it was all the same. I got on the bus. Danny -- Powell got on the bus a few stops later, with his buddies. He didn't look at me. The bus got to school, everybody got off and we headed to classes. Powell didn't look at me. His buddies ignored me. Was that different? Our paths crossed at random during the day. Our eyes didn't meet.
We got on the bus to go home. Nothing. I braced myself for an especially nasty whack when Powell got off the bus. Nothing. I watched him walk to the front of the bus, watched him turn and get off, watched him through the window, talking with his buddies as the bus pulled away. Nothing. Was he just not seeing me, or trying not to see me? Was this how he treated girls?
"He's scared," I told myself, but I didn't believe me. What was there to be scared of? Not me, for sure. I wasn't about to go running around, bragging about my conquest, because it wasn't a conquest! It was ... What? The smile? It had to be more than the feel of his cock! He didn't even get naked! And suddenly I remembered looking up at him and how I'd wanted Danny right then, still glowing, before his face hardened into Powell's.
The bus stopped, I got out, went home, ate and did homework and went to bed, got up and repeated it all, even the wondering. A far as Danny Powell was concerned, I'd simply ceased to exist. What was it he'd said, back in the prep room? "Why can't you at least stop loving each other at the same time, so it doesn't hurt so much?" Yeah. Why the fuck not?