Book 1: Billie Joe's Journey

by Rick Beck

Chapter 1

For Timmy and the readers at IOMfAtS.

Twenty years ago, in the colonies, I went in search of gay love stories on the Internet. I began my search in January of 1997.

In March of 1997, shortly after IOMfAtS' birth, I discovered the Nifty Archives. There were 4800 stories, I'm being generous. Seeing the quality of the stories, I figured I could do better. I'd write my own love stories.

The day I found Nifty, I posted my first chapter for public consumption.

This is that story.

I haven't altered it or edited it. This is where I began. I have had a presence on the Internet for those twenty years.

I plan to continue posting with IOMfAtS for another twenty.

My best stories are already here, but who knows what's to come.

Peace & Love,

Rick Beck

© OLYMPIA50 1997 all rights reserved

A Rick Beck Story

WARNING! There are adult themes in this story.


While Billie Joe's Journey is a reflection of what takes place daily in America, there is no depiction of it anywhere in our media. Billie Joe is invisible in the world where he lives. Like Billie Joe, many LGBT youth have no one to turn to and no safe place to go. After his best friend commits suicide, Billie Joe decides he must leave home to find out what it means to be gay. He wants to find people who are like him and accept him as he is. He never imagines the hardship and emotions he'll face on his journey to find a place where he's welcome.

& especially this book is for and about the gay kids who haunted our streets, whether thrown away or forced out of their homes. We all know growing up gay can be hazardous to your health, because we live in a society that values conformity and not diversity. Our street kids are proof of this.

Billie Joe Walker Jr. is about to become one of them.

"A secret is a bomb that may go off under pressure, damaging anyone in its reach. I wouldn't recommend defusing your bomb the way I defused mine."

The Bomb

If you are coming out, have come out, or are going to come out, this story is about a time when I felt I needed to come out or I might die. I came out in spite of the messages telling me I shouldn't if I knew what was good for me. It will become obvious I didn't know what was good for me, but there was no turning back. I still managed to fall in love with Carl, and still am and always will be.

I suspected when I was twelve. All my "boy" friends started talking about girls and acting stupid around them. I was mesmerized the day Drew got his hard after taking his shower in gym class. My locker was next to his. All the naked boys stimulated me, but my self-control as well as excellent peripheral vision gave me an edge. Drew was a year older than the rest of us. He'd been held back. His voice was deep. The hair around his thing was black and thick. It was big in size when compared to the immature and just maturing guys we showered with.

I spotted Drew's thing when it stood out. He turned toward the locker to hide it as he pulled on his socks first. My own interest started to rise up too. I watched his smooth skin as he bent to work on his feet. I caught a glimpse of the pink hole. I made a point to watch it appear when he went to the second foot. I dried myself while I watched him. When he turned to get his pants, the object of my interest brushed my leg with a heat that caught me off guard. It felt smooth, hard, and soft all at the same time. As I felt myself fighting with my self-control, I realized Drew had pulled his jeans on over his naked body. Where was his underwear? I'd never known anyone that didn't wear underwear. I studied him working on his hair and liked the black hairs up under his arm. Drew never noticed me watching.

From that day forward, I picked out a guy each day before gym class. I waited for him to get a locker, and my locker became the one next to his. No one ever caught on. I thought I was probably going through that stage everyone talks about. It confused me, but I never felt better than in the shower and while making sure the guy in the next locker rubbed against me at least once with his naked body. I didn't worry about it, and I refused to think my lack of interest in girls was of any importance at twelve, thirteen, and even fourteen. By high school, and with all my friends dating, I calculated I was probably gay, but I figured there was only one way to know for sure, and I wasn't that ready yet.

My best friend Ralphie dated two girls for short periods. We never talked about it, but what is there to say about that? I entertained the idea of dating a girl so I'd be like my friends. It didn't seem right.

What if there was a guy that wanted to date her, but because she was dating me, he didn't, and maybe he had long term interests in mind, when I didn't. Maybe the guy moved on and the girl I dated ended up alone, her chance for happiness gone, because of me.

Did I want to play a game like that? No.

I didn't date and I was happy having the friends I had, and while I wasn't a good student, I passed my classes and at the finish of my junior year in high school everything changed. It started with my mom.

I was in my room doing nothing at all, when my mother made a most disturbing sound. I was at an age that my parents weren't very important any longer, mostly saying no to things I wanted. I had failed to mature very fast and I suppose I was selfish and irresponsible about most things, especially my school work.

Wandering downstairs, my mother still had her hand on the phone, though she'd hung it up. The Kleenex she kept in her housecoat was in her hand as she dabbed at her eyes, obviously upset by the call.

"What's wrong, mom?" I asked casually, expecting to hear 'so and so is divorcing so and so' or some such as that, which always upset my mother.

She sat sharply to attention, dabbing her eyes, and saying, "Nothing. There's nothing wrong."

I should have asked why nothing had her crying, but I wasn't that interested in my mother or the soap opera she conducted with her friends. Besides, I had a summer of fun to keep me occupied.

It was later that day that my father upset my applecart and sent my life into a tailspin. I was reading the latest Silver Surfer comic book I'd picked up at the drugstore and was annoyed that my father came into my room with not so much as a knock or a word to warn me.

I dropped the comic on my chest, knowing better than to ignore Pop. He looked different. His usual tidy appearance had given way to the disheveled look. His face came with its usual sternness. I waited for him to lecture me on whatever it was I'd done, hadn't done, or damn well better do right now.

"When are you going to grow up, Billie," he snapped, too angry for the typical scolding.

"It's only a comic book, Pop," I defended in my usual insolent style.

"I have some news," he said, moving way faster than was normal. We could go on about comic books for ten or fifteen minutes some days. This was a curious change in his parenting manor.

"It's Ralph," he said, stalling out as he got to the name. He turned away, breathing deep as if he was searching for a better way.

"What about Ralphie?" I asked.

"Ralph… Ralph… died this morning."

He could have hit me with a ten ton brick and it wouldn't have hurt as much as this. Ralphie and I had known each other all our lives. He was as healthy as me and teenagers don't just die.

My father said some more but I never heard what. I don't know what I did or said. There was the funeral. There was talk. None of it made much of an impression, because my best friend was suddenly gone out of my life.

Talk ran through school at a feverish pace. Small towns are like that. While sitting alone at a lunch table at school, I over heard two girls talking.

"He left a note you know," one blurted.

"No, what did it say?"

"I won't live in a world that hates me."

"No. He was gay then?"

"That's what they say," the gossipy girl pronounced.

"He wasn't," I yelled, standing up and moving in their direction. "He wasn't either gay," I said, walking away for fear I might punch the girl with the big mouth.

"They were friends," I heard one say.

Why I said what I said I don't know. I'd heard about the note. I'd heard speculation on what those words might mean, but if Ralphie was gay he never told me, but I'd never told him either. I was afraid to tell him. If I had told him he'd be alive. Now, it was all over school, and everyone knew Ralphie and I were best friends.

School ended a short time later and I mostly stayed in my room. There was no place I could go that didn't remind me of Ralphie. Even my room was full of memories about him.

One evening, just before school was out, I told my parents what I wanted to do. They had no doubt why I wanted to go away, which figured into my plans. Traveling to Seattle to spend the summer with my brother wouldn't ordinarily be allowed, because my brother was on the outs with my parents, but he was my brother and they'd see this as an opportunity to get back into his life. This trip would cover up what I was really up to

I would go to Seattle and stay with my brother for a few days. One day he'd come in from work and I'd be gone. He'd wait a few days before telling my parents, because he wouldn't want to bust me to parents he couldn't deal with, and this would give me the time to get where I was going.

I intended to find out what it meant to be gay. I was going somewhere that welcomed gay people and didn't discriminate against you if you were gay. I was going to San Francisco to be with people just like me. I wasn't going to take a chance that I might end up like Ralphie.

My mother was unusually happy on the way to the bus station. Pop was stern, but I didn't get the impression they were a bit apprehensive about sending me off to big brother's house. We said our goodbyes and I gave them no hint that I wouldn't be returning home for my senior year in high school.

It wasn't until the bus driver punched my ticket and I climbed the steps onto the bus that I breathed easier.

' So far so good,' I thought. The first part of the plan was in motion but I'd feel better once the wheels were actually moving.

The bus was packed with a strange mix of people when we left Minneapolis. A guy in a uniform that I believed was Marine came to the back of the bus carrying that big green bag they put their junk in. Actually he was in the Army and I'd end up getting a close up look at his uniform.

"Move, kid," he said gruffly, as if he was in charge of seating. "Let me have the window. My legs are too long to sit on the isle and they'll stick out. You're just a squirt. Move."

I looked around for a seat in a friendlier part of the bus. There was one beside a little old lady, and one with a little kid that had a mother and three sisters hanging all over the seats. The first decision of my new life had no good options.

I stayed in the back with the soldier. I didn't like the guy, but I didn't much like old ladies and little kids got on my nerves. He threw his bag up top and sat next to the window in my seat. Sticking his legs over in my space, he went to sleep.

Before we hit the Interstate his legs were pressed tight against mine. He flipped up that middle arm to get it out of his way, which allowed him to take up his seat and part of mine. I didn't like being pushed out of my own seat, but it didn't take long for me to realize there were certain advantages if you looked for them.

I'd only seen one hardon in my life that wasn't mine. Drew's! I'd seen guys with hard dicks pushing out the front of their pants. They all tried to hide it with their hand, only giving me a quick glimpse. The soldier got one and the way he was sitting, his back and shoulders against the far corner of his seat, while the rest of him stretched in my direction. This made the object that concerned me come closer.

At first I wasn't so sure it wasn't wishful thinking, but the further down in the seat he slipped, the closer look I got in the bulging. Wishful thinking couldn't push the front of his pants that way. I knew what it was but not what to do about it.

I'd gotten on the bus wanting to go somewhere to find out what it meant to be gay. I didn't expect to find it part of the answer in the seat next to me less than a hundred miles from home. My heart was pounding as I wrestled with temptation. Since he was invading my space, I felt justified in letting my hand settle on the front of his pants an inch from the bulge, but well inside my part of the seat.

I waited, for what, I didn't know. The bulge had my full attention, but I couldn't move my hand. I couldn't take my eyes off it. He must have been at least as big as Drew, and, since it was still in his pants, I thought bigger. I waited, not daring to do it myself. I just stared and my imagination did the rest.

After five minutes he changed his position again. His bulge pressed really hard right into my hand and arm. I was totally shocked by this. I mean I wanted a little touch of that thing in there, but he like ground it into my hand once he felt me touching him. It was like no attempt to hide that he was rubbing it against me and liking rubbing it against me. It was weird, but not so much that I wanted to stop touching it. I was already pushed as far in my seat as I could get from him.

I did turn my hand so my palm and fingers were on top of it. I closed my eyes and pretended I was sleeping, but I was sitting straight up, and now my own pants suffered from bulges and a growing wet spot inside my underwear. He moved just a little bit, and my fingers closed on it. I didn't mean it. I mean that wasn't what I wanted to do, but my fingers just did it on their own, and he like sat up looking at me. Meanwhile I'm pretending I'm asleep and all, and shaking. He moved around and ended up almost back in the same exact spot with his hardon against my hand just like before. He sat up to check and see if what was happening was happening to his thing. He moved two or three times in small little moves, but always pushing his bulge into my hand until my fingers closed around it once again. Then he lay still. Real still. But I could feel the thing jerk through his pants every couple of minutes, and when it jerked, my fingers squeezed on it. My heart absolutely was about to break inside my chest, and I started breathing real funny. I tried hard to calm down, but it just got worse the longer I held his thing.

It must have been an hour with me holding it and neither of us moved. I started to feel pretty good about it, like I was getting away with something pretty dirty, and with touching a real man thing or almost touching it. Then I looked at his face and his eyes were open and he was looking at me. I almost died right there. He looked at my hand and at my face. He was young and looked like guys I went to school with. I didn't stop holding it and he didn't say to stop.

"Sorry I yelled at you," he said. I been sitting in that damn bus station since early this morning."

"It's okay," I said, letting my hand slowly slip onto my own leg.

He sat up and stretched.

"Went home before shipping out to Japan. Thought I would spend some time with my girl. She's off on vacation with her parents. I guess I missed seeing her more than I thought. Sorry about that."

He moved the bulge around in his pants until it pointed straight up at his belt. He didn't miss me watching.

"It's okay," I said, looking at where he put it to see what I could see.

He looked at me kind of funny like he was trying to add two and two and just came up with the three-dollar answer. He looked at the bulge in the front of my pants and then back to my face and then to the place where he stuffed himself. My eyes watched the same place, too.

"I'm Carl."

"I'm Billie Joe. Aren't you a little young to be in the Army."

"My parents signed for me to go in early. No jobs where I'm from. I turned seventeen at basic training. Going to Jap-land for fifteen months."

"That's young for a soldier," I said. "We're near about the same age.

"Near about? Where are you from?"

"St. Cloud. It's west of where you got on the bus."

"Oh, I'm from Alabama. I was the youngest guy in my platoon but there were three other guys seventeen."

"Seems young. I wouldn't want to be in the Army."

"Not for everyone. I was bored at home. Pa went in when he was young. I just decided to join up."

We drove on out through South Dakota, and at about the third stop we got fifty minutes for dinner. Carl said we should hurry up, and he acted like I should go with him, so I did. We both got cokes and something that looked like ham sandwiches. They weren't very good, but it filled me up. Carl went and got us a second coke. I tried to pay him, but he said, "I got it."

When we passed the boys room, he said, "We better piss. Might be hours for we stop again. I don't like trying to pee while I'm moving on the bus. I usually piss on myself. I'd rather be standing still."

He laughed and held the door open for me so I knew to go with him and all. We stood beside each other at the urinals, and I used my excellent peripheral vision to watch him pull out that thing of his. It was soft now, but thicker than Drew's when he was on a hard that day. He held it at the bottom, so I got to see the whole top of it. The head seemed large as it was starting to stir while we peed together. There was one thick twisty vein on the side closest to me. My own started to rise up a bit so I had to stop looking at him to piss. He turned when he finished and looked right at me, and mine quit pissing. When I looked at him his was two inches from me as he undid his belt, tucked in his shirt and only then tucked it in his pants so I couldn't look on it any more. Mine stood up in my hand as I watched his and he saw it and all, but he seemed casual about everything.

"Damn, kid. You're bad as me. You better finish up or we're going to miss the bus."

I stood for a few more minutes and didn't piss until he stopped looking at mine. I really got nervous. When we got back on the bus there were two sets of empty seats beside us, but he got back in where we had been before, and I sat beside him like there was no other place. Now I wanted to sit there. I mean he wasn't so bad, but there was a lot more to it than that. I wouldn't have moved unless he told me to move. He didn't. We drove on as the sun was setting in front of us. It stood big and orange right over where the highway was going.

Carl went back to sleep and his leg rested against mine, but the bulge never reappeared for me to see or do anything else with. When we stopped to let some old guy off, Carl sat up and asked me where we were. I didn't really know. Close to North Dakota I thought, but he stretched and lay more on his back so I could see where it was, but it wasn't big like before. I decided since he was back on my side I would let my hand sit on his leg, and I did a little at a time until I ended up with my hand all the way on the top. That's when the bulge came back. He moved around for a couple of minutes until my fingers once more rested right back on top of it. He got real still then. I felt it moving in my fingers. When I squeezed it, it moved even more. I rubbed all of it a couple of times to try to figure out how big the thing was. It was plenty big! It was bigger than mine by a ways and hard. It was way hard then, too, so squeezed it to keep it that way.

I just liked to touch it. I guess I was figuring out why I didn't really care about girls, and it made me worry about what my friends would think. But I wasn't with them, I was with Carl, and my pants were bulging out in the front like his. After a long time of holding it, I realized his hand was ever so slowly moving.

It was dark on the bus except for a couple of overhead lights in the front where a few riders read. His hand was first on my leg and then his hand was on mine. I figured he was asleep, but then I knew he wasn't sleeping.

He unzipped his pants and took it out. I thought I was going to faint and I looked around to make certain no one could see us, but it was way dark. He squeezed mine the same way I'd squeezed his, and I got hot and flustered.

"Go ahead," he said in a whisper. "It's too dark for anyone to see. It's okay."

He put his hand on my wrist and moved my fingers until they were on that hot hard thing of his. I mean all kinds of stuff happened to me. My face went hot. My thing just jerked like mad and all that wet stuff I was putting down in my underwear got to be a serious problem. I was just glad he didn't know what a mess I made from touching him.

He kept holding my wrist on him and turned so it was pointing toward the window, and my hand was over his leg holding it. After a few minutes he let go of my wrist, but I didn't let go of him. I felt it from the fat head all the way down the shaft as he pushed it through my fingers, until it was all out and exposed.

I managed to calm down after about five minutes of feeling him. It was then I could tell what I got in my hand. I mean I knew what it was, but I couldn't really tell much about it. I guess I was too excited by feeling it to be able to realize what it was really like. My first feeling was that I couldn't get my hand around it all the way. The head of the thing was some kind of fat compared to mine. When I touched it, the skin was soft, but underneath the delicate soft skin it was hard as stone. He developed the same kind of leaking problem with stickiness at the tip as I felt it. While my fingers moved allover it he didn't move a single muscle. I could feel his heart beating through his thing.

After moving all over it, I got the idea to do to him what I do to myself when I'm all worked up at night in my room. I figured he would like it. I sure did, but I didn't know much. I moved my hand up and down on it for a time, and he grabbed my wrist and held it so I couldn't do it no more.

"I don't want to get off," he said kinda rough, as he breathed hard around his words.

So I stopped and just held it for a long time.

"How then?" I said after thinking on it for a long time and also getting nerve up to ask him that.

"How do you think?"

"I don't know how. That's what I do to myself when I want to do something."

"You never done this before?"

"No, sir," I swore. "Never."

"When a guy and a girl go together, well they get to know each other, and he puts his inside of her. That's what I went home to do, but the bitch wasn't home. Pissed me off. I got a few more ix more days to get me some. Not with a hand either. I want to do it proper cause it will be the last 'til I get home again."

"Some what?"

"I'm going to get a whore to fuck. What do you think?"

"I don't know. I never thought about. I kinda like this," I said, squeezing his hardon up near the head.

"Yeah," he said without elaborating.

All this time I'm holding his thing. It seemed odd to me to be doing that and him all the time talking about finding some girl to do it with. I didn't care what he said as long as he let me keep touching him. We fell asleep like that and I woke up in the middle of the night as we rushed down the Interstate. His rear end is up against my front end.

He'd gone soft, but I didn't. I pressed right up against the back of him, rubbing it against his uniform pants. It felt great. I did what he told me not to and got his hard and all. I stopped before I made a mess on myself, but it was about the best feeling ever. I didn't know how he could sleep with me doing that, but he did and I was pretty glad he didn't wake up and belt me for it.

I woke up the next morning alone in the seat. Carl was across from me with his feet kicked up on the back of the seat in front of him. There were six people up in the front of the bus and us in back.

"You wake up, kid?"


"I figured I'd give you some room. You were kinda all over top of me for awhile."

"I'm sorry."

"No big deal. We'll stop to eat in about an hour the driver said."

I watched the world pass by that window and no longer liked sitting alone. Carl sat on the other side of the bus and stayed quiet. I looked at him an awful lot, but he ignored me. When we ate he went to piss while he sent me for a coke. He told me to go piss before we left. I went alone this time. I really felt bad about that. It was like I found somebody I really liked for the first time, but he really didn't like me or anything. Only when he wanted me holding onto his thing did he really like me. He ignored me most of the day. People came and went as we got into Montana. One guy sat in the rear with us and rode a few hours and got out. He talked to Carl and made me mad about it. At one time there were only four of us, then more got on in a city. I don't know the name. It started getting late after a dinner stop, and all the lights went out, and Carl stood up to get something out of his bag. I sat next to the isle so my face was even with his pants, and I looked right there where I knew it was but couldn't see it. I wanted to unzip him and put my hand in there, but I didn't do that.

"You okay kid," he said, when he sat down.


"Awful quiet."

"Didn't think you wanted to talk to me."

"Nah! Just got stuff on my mind, kid. Going to Japan and all."

"Thought you was mad at me because . . . ah . . . you know . . . and all."

"Shit no! That's cool. You're cool, kid. Just that you're, well, you know. Just a kid. Don't want to give anyone ideas about me spending time like that. So many seats empty and all."

He leaned over into the middle of the isle and whispered to me, "I'll sit over there later for awhile. Okay? You know? Let you do what you want to Tiger down there. That make you feel better, kid?"


I know I beamed like a stupid school girl when he said that to me. He rubbed it when he sat back in his seat. He looked at me and smiled and rubbed himself until it bulged out. He pressed his hands down on the sides of it so it stuck out for me to see. He smiled at me real big like. He went to looking back out the window and watched the lights come on in a small town we were going through. I kept waiting for him to come sit next to me, but he stayed over there until I fell asleep.

I woke up with my face rubbing against it. He was leaning with his back against the window and my face was in his lap and that thing looked really big from that angle and it gave off a powerful smell. He rubbed it on the side of my face and ran the tip across my lips as I breathed deep and let him do it. I was back to dripping in my underwear again. That skin was so soft. It was the softest thing I ever felt on my skin. It scared me though because I knew what he wanted from me. That's why he got so nice to me. He thought I would do it to him and all.

"You okay with that?" he said.

"I don't know," I said.

"You like it don't you?"

"I guess."

He reached for the front of my pants.

"You like it all right. You're hard as me. Why don't you go ahead. You wanted to know what I like. You can do what you like to it."


"Put your mouth on it for awhile. I like that as much as putting it inside my girl friend."

"I don't think I should do that," I said.

"You'll like it, kid. You think it's good to hold. It's better to suck on, kid."

"I can't," I said.

"Why not. You'll like it."

"I'm scared," I said.

"Come on. You're touching it all the time I'm over here with you. I let you do that cause I know it's what you are liking, but I like it when someone puts their lips on me. You know you like it."

"I never done that before."

"You've done it now, and you like to do it. Look how hard you are."

"I know that. You're hard too."

"Cause you're on it all the time. That's why I'm hard. Go ahead. You'll like it. You know you want it, kid. You're more horny than me. You want it."

"I don't think so."

"I need it. Man, you know you want to."

"I'm scared."

"You're a sissy. Go ahead and take it in your mouth," his words were gruff.

Once again he brushed it across my lips. Then he placed the head on my lips and moved it all over my lips trying to get me to open wide. The sticky stuff got on my lips. I wanted to barf, but I wanted to do that to him, but I didn't, and I didn't. He held my head and tried to get me to, but I turned my head until he stopped. He stood up and facing me slid his back across the seats in front of us. His dick stood out from his zipper. He pulled my face forward onto it, but I turned my head. He leaned there for a few seconds and put it in his pants and sat back across the aisle. I watched him as he sat in the outside seat but looked out of the window.

"You know you want it," he said, after about ten minutes of ignoring me.

"I don't know that. You want me to want it. That's all. You are the one that wants it. You said you wanted it inside your girl. I'm not her."

"I'll do it to you if you'll do it to me. I'll do it to you first, but then you got to do it all the way."

"No." I said.

"Why not?" he pleaded.

"I'm scared. I never done that before."

"You're a sissy. You know you want it."

He went to staring out the window again. Just after we made a stop and everyone settled down, he came back over to sit by the window. He turned on the light over his seat and unzipped his pants. He watched me watch him like the eye of an eagle. He rubbed it through the cleft in his zipper and let me see the bulge of it hidden by his fly, but didn't pull it all the way out.

Carl grinned at me and said in a very low voice, "That's so when you want it you can get it out. I know you'll want it tonight. You're still a sissy. I told you I'd do it if you would."

He turned out the light and spread out across me and one-and-a-half seats. He made sure the zipper was within my reach. I waited for him to start sleeping before I did it. I could tell he no longer had underwear on, when he unzipped his pants with the light on. He must have taken them off in the john at the last stop. I felt the hair around it as soon as my hand reached inside his pants. It was soft and nice that way.

Later, I put mine up against his ass as I reached over him to feel his inside his pants. After awhile he got back up real nice. It made me more interested when it got like that. I got excited rubbing up against him. When he reached around and grabbed me, I jumped. He unzipped me and brought mine out of my pants. He pulled on it and found the sticky stuff and played in it. I held my breath. I had never felt anyone feeling me naked before like that.

"There. You'll get more out of it that way."

"Your pants are itchy. I don't like that," I said, and let go of him to put mine away.

When I heard the belt buckle clinking I thought he was putting himself away again, but the next thing I knew he was sliding his pants down.

"There. That should be soft enough for you. I ain't a sissy. You go ahead and feel real good. I'll lie here letting you do what you want for yourself while I go with nothing but a hand on mine."

I leaned back over to him and let mine rub against his naked skin. It was like when I first touched his naked thing. I mean hot and faint and all kinds of feelings that kept me from feeling anything. It seemed like I was in the water and a huge wave just ran up over top of me. He reached for mine and rubbed it hard against his skin. He reached for my hand and pressed it on him when I forgot to hold him for a few minutes. It was even bigger when he made me do it. I moved mine up and down on his skin when I calmed down enough to know to do that to feel better and all.

"You do something on me and I'll kick your ass," he said.

"I won't," I said, hoping I wouldn't.

I pulled on him like he had made me stop doing the night before, but he didn't stop me this time. He took mine in his hand again and placed it in his crack. It felt warm and nice like. It just held me real tight against his skin. I wanted to do stuff to him there, but I knew not to. Getting belted would ruin it for sure.

"You try to stick it in me, and I'll kick your ass," he said.

"I won't," I said.

"It feels good though. I never did this before. It's really nice and all."

"Can I do it to yours?" he said.

"I don't know," I said.

"Fucking sissy. I won't go inside you. I'd never fit in your little ass."

"It's what you wanted to do with your girl friend, and I don't believe you won't put it inside me."

I couldn't hold myself still. The more I moved it the better it felt. I also felt like I was going to make a mess all over him, and not wanting to get my ass kicked, I kept reminding myself of my self-control. It worked and I didn't, but I sure wanted to.

At first he seemed real tense-like. It was hard to move much because his muscles kept me from doing much, but it seemed like the more I moved up and down the crack, the more he let me move up and down the crack.

When I got near where his hole was I should have been really made sick by thinking my thing was rubbing against where he did his business, but I thought of that once, and then I thought how good it felt. I made quick passes over the hole, letting my head hesitate each time, which made him tense and I moved on. When it rubbed him there I got a dizzying jolt of excitement, but the thought of him kicking my ass kept me from hesitating on the hole for long.

I was leaking more and more on him the longer I stopped, but it wasn't like doing it a lot, which I was sure he didn't want me shooting on him. The sticky stuff got on his crack and on his hole, and it felt real nice rubbing up and down across there and all. Like I said, he relaxed and that encouraged me to spend more time near the sticky hole, making it slicker.

I also knew I was getting his sticky stuff in my hand, so I figured he liked it as much as I did. He didn't say anything and pretty soon I was pushing hard when I rubbed against the hole. He seemed to not mind so much any more and rubbing it there made me absolutely dizzy.

We stayed like this an hour or maybe more than that or it could have been less. It's hard to judge time when you are doing something incredible and are dizzy and all. It wasn't possible for me to know how much time I spent rubbing the hole and pulling on his thing like I did to myself, only I did it slow to make it last. I did real good, considering I was so close to making a mess. I didn't know if I could keep from it. After a long, long time of doing this to him, he pulled up his pants without saying anything to me at all. I thought he was mad again, but then he put my hand back on it, and I held him there until I fell asleep late, late that night some time or maybe early the next morning.

He rode beside me our last day and night together. He never went back across the bus, but more and more people started to get on the closer to Seattle we got. Every once in awhile he'd put my hand on the front of his pants, and he put his hand on the front of mine. We used a small blanket he had to hide our handiwork. It was during one of these times I took mine out for him to hold and he did. We rode like that for a long way on the last full day to Seattle.

When we stopped to eat he bought my dinner and smiled at me a lot. Once we got back on the bus, and people were still moving around, he held my hand under the blanket. I was sure he liked me and I knew I liked him. I didn't want him to leave me and I didn't know what to do about it.

When night fell, he put his pants down some more and let me ride against him for most of the night. I did not sleep because I liked it too much and knew it was all the time we would be together. I wanted so much to do something else with the hole of his, but I knew better than that. We could not talk because of all the people around, but he rubbed my stomach and my legs while I rubbed hard on the hole of his. When the light started, we stopped, but I don't think he wanted to stop any more than I did at all.

When we came down to Seattle he started to hold my hand some more. He said maybe we should spend a few more days together. He said I should tell my brother I had to stay with him before he left because he was being there all alone.

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