The Pale Blue Sky

by Jack Lynch

Part 1 - Carey and Connor, Chapter 5

Tuesday. Is This Ok?

Carey beat himself up for the next couple of days. What…in the hell…was he thinking??? He kept going over the encounter in his mind. How could he have let things get that far? On the other hand, as he recalled, didn't Connor egg him on? After all, the kid had spied on him when he took a leak. Then, of all things, the little shit did the same thing and dared Carey to watch him!

Clearly underage. Well underage. Thirteen. The perfect age to be sexually exploited by an adult. But, who was doing the exploiting? Sure, Carey had given him a couple of extra tokens. Big deal. Then Connor told him he knew Carey was looking at him. What kind of kid just "knows" unless he is somehow looking for "that" kind of attention?

Carey, eyes squeezed shut, pinched the top of his nose with his thumb and first finger. Connor was so…cute….and so…damn sexy! He just seemed to exude both of those qualities. 13 years old boy cute. Legs just starting to stretch out. A hint of freckles across the bridge of his pug nose. That goofy smile with the one tooth coming in over the other. Some orthodontist was going to make a fortune on that mouth.

The disorganized mess of hair on his head. Futile attempts to comb it with his fingers. Straight, thick, clumpy, wrapping around the front and back of one ear and just falling over to completely cover the other ear. Soft little curls at the back, the ones that bounced off his shoulders when he ran. Sticking out the back of his hockey helmet.

Lastly, the eyes. Pale blue, not bright blue. Unique. Well, not totally unique. His mother's eyes. What did they do? Sparkle? Twinkle? Carey couldn't quite put a finger on it.

Carey recalled looking down at Connor when his head was laying in his lap. Those long blond eyelashes. Little lines under his eyes. Did he have trouble sleeping? Or, were they just from smiling? That clear, pink, smooth skin. Those tiny nipples. A chest with no real definition other than a soft indentation in the middle of his chest plate. How did those young lungs give him the power to skate so hard and fast? His stomach rising and falling. The silkiness of his skin around his waist and hips. That treasure just below. He knew what Connor's dick looked like soft when he spied him taking a piss. He'd felt the tip of it hard for just a fraction of a second. It felt hot, smooth, firm. What would it feel like if…

Carey mentally slapped himself again. He did that numerous times from Sunday afternoon through an incredibly boring day at work on Monday. Today was another day off. He needed a distraction.

He had just changed a load of laundry from the washer to a dryer. Tuesday was a good day to do laundry. The place was empty. You're supposed to do laundry on Sundays, not Tuesdays. Right?

He pulled the laundromat door open glancing to the left as he exited. When he turned to the right to open his apartment door, Connor was standing there.

Carey's breath caught in his throat.

Smiling, Connor jerked the hair out of his eyes. His hockey bag in his left hand. Today's outfit, as usual, two t-shirts, black bike shorts, and athletic shoes, no socks.

"Hey!" Carey said trying not to sound too excited to see him. Looking down at the hockey bag, "On your way to practice?"

"Ya." Pause. "But I got a little time."

"Wanna come up?"

Big smile. "Sure!"

Carey put the key in the lock, turned it, and nudged the door open with his foot. Giving it a wide swing with his hand, Carey slipped through followed by Connor. Up the stairs with Connor trudging behind, dragging his bag.

When they got inside the apartment, Carey tried to think of something to say. Maybe they should talk about it. Get it out in the open. Let's deal with it. Say it will never happen again. Say he was sorry.

Instead, what came out was, "Want something to drink?"

"Ok. Ya."

Carey went to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and took out two bottles of Dad's Root Beer. He'd picked them up from MacDougal's Hardware yesterday on his way home from work. Grabbing a bottle opener, he pried the caps off the bottles.

When he returned carrying the cold brews, Connor was in the middle of the living room. He was pulling both of his t-shirts off at the same time. Carey froze.

Connor smiled at Carey. "Is this ok?"

"Uh…no. I mean, uh, ok. Go ahead."

Connor finished pulling them off. He dropped them to the floor.

Now bare chested, he shook his hair out again and looked at Carey hopefully. "Wanna play some more?"

Holy shit! Carey was thinking. Can this be happening? What about talking about it? Saying it will never happen again. Fuck! He wants to play???

"Uh-m-m-m." Carey couldn't think of what to say.

"I was wondering. Instead of Overreach, do you have a vid we can play together?"

Carey shook all of those thoughts out of his head. "Oh ya," he laughed with some relief. "How about…Super Mega Baseball?"


Carey gave Connor one of the bottles of root beer, set his own down on a side table, and went to pull the game controllers off the shelf under the TV.

"What's this?" Connor asked, examining the bottle.

"You've never had a root beer?"

"Ya. 'Never heard of Dad's though."

"It's retro. Your grandpa probably drank Dad's. It was the rage at one time."

"Ok," Connor shrugged. He tipped it back, watching it foam up the bottle neck. "Mmmm…that's good!"

Carey chuckled. He booted the game up and sat with his legs crossed up on the couch. Connor slumped to the carpeted floor on his tummy with the game controller in front of him and the root beer to one side. During their spirited baseball game, they faced off against each other, alternately pitching and batting.

As they played on, Carey admired Connor's bare back and shoulder blades. His eyes dropped to his cute butt covered in those tight bike shorts. His hips lifted slightly alternating with his butt clenching when he threw a pitch or swung at the ball.

The lead switched hands several times. In the late innings of the first game, Connor threw a particularly adept pitch. Carey didn't know how he did it. He somehow flipped the toggle stick to give the ball a ridiculous curve. Three quick strike outs and Connor won the game by a run.

"You doofus!" Carey yelled as Connor laid his head on his crossed arms and laughed. Carey uncrossed one leg and, reaching out, kicked Connor's butt. Connor sat up, turned around to smile at Carey as he took a draw of the root beer. Carey kiddingly warned Connor that if he kept using that pitch, he'd be in big trouble. Connor giggled.

The second game started with Carey at bat and Connor pitching. Carey got runners on first and third with two long singles. With one out, Connor started using his trick pitch again. Six pitches. Two more men out. Inning ended.

Carey expressed fake outrage. "What did I say??" He growled. Uncrossing his leg again, Carey punched his foot at Connor's butt.

Still on his stomach, Connor cried in fake pain, "Ouch!" Then, pretending he was really hurt, he pouted, "Look. I'm injured," he said mournfully. And with that, he pulled his shorts down on one side. Half of one butt cheek and part of his crack shown.


Carey stared in shock at Connor's partially exposed ass. No underwear! His breathing immediately became labored. A round butt, muscular for a kid. Probably from playing hockey. Carey's eyes followed the indentation of his back from the middle of his shoulders down through the gap between his legs.

Game play stopped. Connor laid his head down on his hands as he waited for Carey to make a move. He couldn't think of anything to say, so he uncrossed his other leg and slipped down on the floor to Connor's left. Carey's eyes were riveted to Connor's backside. Leaning on his left arm, he brought his right hand over Connor's back. Ever so slowly, he lowered it and began to softly stroke the silky skin at the top of his shoulders.

Connor closed his eyes as he emitted a soft, "Mmmm…"

Carey's very light massage dipped lower and lower on Connor's back. When he got to the small of his back, just above his butt cheeks, he paused. How far was this going to go? Carey could feel his heart beating wildly in his chest. His cock stiffened. With a sigh, he brought his hand onto Connor's left partially bare butt cheek and continued a slow circular motion.

The bike shorts had become an encumbrance. Grabbing the waist band, he leaned up toward Connor's head.

"Is this ok?" He whispered.

"Uh huh," Connor said softly. Eyes closed.

Carey slowly but steadily pulled the bike shorts down Connor's legs and off of his feet. The boy was now completely naked. What a sight! Spreading Connor's legs slightly, he leaned over and ran his hands up his smooth thighs, barely brushing his balls from behind and spreading his cheeks. His perfectly puckered and pinkish brown butthole came into view. He breathed in that sweet boy smell coming up from between his legs.

Connor's hips moved back and forth slightly. Carey leaned over and hoarsely whispered in his ear, "Do you wanna turn over?"

Connor answered, barely audible, "Ok."

Gently pulling on his left hip, Carey helped Connor turn over. A light pink, thin, five inch erect cock came into view. Staring down at it, Carey wanted so badly to plunge it into his mouth. Instead, he placed his left hand on Connor's chest over his right nipple. Gently rubbing, his hand slowly swept along the smooth skin of his chest, along the side of his abdomen, and down to his hip. He cupped his hand on Connor's hip and ran it down his thigh. Connor let out a half groan, half sigh. Carey repeated the motion on the other side of Connor's body starting at his thigh and ending on his chest.

Looking down at this beautiful boy, Carey knew the next step was one of no return. He was going to regret this. Even now, it had gone too far. Removing his hands, he gazed down at him. Connor opened his eyes a tiny bit, smiling softly at Carey.

Slowly, Connor brought his left hand to his cock. He started pulling on it. He brought his right hand down and held it under his balls. As he did, Carey resumed the circular motion of sweeping his hand down one side of his body and up the other. It was hard but he very carefully avoided touching Connor's cock. As Connor stroked himself, he thrust his hips up and down. Increasing in speed and thrust, Connor squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his stomach muscles.

He didn't so much gasp as make a breathy "Uh. Uh. Uh." His face got red. A small amount of spunk came out, landing on his tummy, as he orgasmed.

A long moment of silence. As Connor's respiration slowed, Carey got up, went to the bathroom, and ran a washcloth under warm water. Returning to where Connor still lay on the floor, he wiped his tummy off. Placing the washcloth over his cock and balls, he just held his hand there in a soothing way. Holding his package like that felt wonderful. Connor opened his eyes. A look of concern.

Oh my God, Carey thought, here it comes. "Do you know what time it is?"

Carey was momentarily paralyzed. He let out his breath, grabbed his phone from the couch, and said, "1:30."

"Oh-h-h-h. Hockey practice. I don't wanna go," Connor groaned. He rolled onto his side, sat up, and grabbed his shorts. Slowly getting up, he tugged them on and stepped into his shoes. Seeing where he had dropped his t-shirts, he pulled them over his head.

Carey got up. He had to say something to him. What? What was he going to say?

Connor yawned, stepped over to Carey, and put his arms around him. He turned his face into Carey's side and said, "Talk to ya." With a sleepy hang dog look, he picked up his hockey bag. Carey was at a loss. He raised his hand in a weak wave and said, "Back at ya."

And, just like that, he was gone.

Carey heard him trudging down the steps, the knock, knock of the bag as it was being dragged behind him. A moment later, he looked out the window and saw him hurrying around the corner with the bag weighing him down on his right side. For several minutes after Connor left, Carey paced around the living room. He went to the bathroom door mirror to see if his reflection would tell him what to do. He went to the bedroom and fell onto the bed clutching a pillow as he lay in a fetal position. What was right; what was wrong? What he felt; what he should be feeling. It was all so nuts! What was he going to say when the cops came to the door? Ok, he touched the kid. Did he violate him? Did they actually have sex? His feelings for Connor? More than puerile. Something about him touched his heart.

The more he thought about it, Carey's concern shifted to Connor. Was he ok? The way he left here. He started to think. Maybe he should check on him. That would be the right thing to do, anyway. Not hide like some pervert.

He grabbed his sweatshirt and headed for the arena. Walking quickly up the hill, he grabbed the arena door, swung it open, and went in. He could hear the sounds of pucks hitting the boards and voices echoing ahead of him. From his vantage point standing against the side boards and glass, he watched the coaches putting the kids through drills.

Carey watched Connor half-heartedly go through the drills. He seemed to struggle to find any rhythm to his skating or puck handling. At one point, one of the coaches called him over. It was obvious he was chewing him out. Connor just hung his head while the coach used his hands and fingers to tick off the points he was trying to make. When he was done, Connor just skated away with his head still down.

After practice, Carey decided to wait around in the lobby to make sure Connor was all right. About ten minutes after the coaches whistled practice over, the boys started coming out of the locker room. Some kids walked right out still wearing jerseys and breezers; a few hung around the lobby chatting it up with each other.

Eventually Connor emerged, back in street clothes, and dragging his hockey bag. When he saw Carey, Connor walked directly to him, dropped the bag, and threw his arms around his waist. He hugged him tightly, his head turned to the side, his eyes closed. Carey's arms slowly came around to hug him back. His hand held Connor's head, softly caressing his hair. Glancing up, he noticed all of the boys remaining in the lobby staring at them.

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