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- 10/09/2014
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Jay & Miles - 3. Miles At Home
POV: Mikey
When I walked up the long driveway after getting the mail from the box, I couldn’t suppress the smile which came to my lips; Jay is taking me out for pizza Friday! Since it had rained the previous night, I walked on the grass strip down the center to avoid the muddy gravel. I approached the long single-story ranch with it’s tan narrow-bricked façade by way of the garage, patting the bi-colored side of my ‘new’ car as I passed it. The ‘55 Pontiac I had bought just before my 16th birthday after saving for nearly a year--the car I had only driven around the oval driveway and a short distance down the tarred road in front of my house! The car whose body I had lovingly repaired, and now could not drive!
I opened the driver’s door and sat on the grey cloth bench seat, letting my hands brush across the dark grey metal of the dashboard, admiring the acres of chrome trim around the instruments. I opened the glove-box and rummaged inside, feeling what I sought under the registration and the greenish paperbacked owner’s manual; a small bottle of pills my mother no longer needed to go to sleep--but a bottle I found a use for. There were many nights I would come out and sit in my car and stare at the small container, letting my fear and despair have free rein. Will tonight be the night? So far, I had only gone so far as to pour out the contents into my hand, then put them back...if my fear of being ‘outed’ got too strong, or I got hit with even one more stroke of bad luck...then I might go farther.
I put the pills back: Not today--I have a date! I shut the car door and went into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of Pepsi from the fridge as I went by and using the bottle opener screwed to the wall next to it. I dropped to the floor in front of the tv, opening a letter from my oldest sister--a birth announcement for another boy--her third! I noted that it had blue balloons on it, and a clipping from her local paper giving the details--eight pounds thirteen ounces!
Taking a swig from the soda bottle, I flipped through the channels, but couldn’t find anything to watch; my mom wouldn’t be home from her cashier’s job at the 5&10 until past 9, and my dad might be even later if another driver called off at the dairy where he worked making deliveries to local stores and schools. With nothing better to do, I put my backpack on the dining room table and began my homework.
There were only a few things to do for English, and some questions to answer in World History, but writing up my experiment notes for Chemistry took the longest--the only science I had any interest in was archaeology! At least I’m out of that stinking Algebra class! The teacher had suggested I drop it for another class rather than lose all the credits--so she got me into her sister’s poetry class. I liked the class, and I was filling the notebook with scattered verses from my favorite poets, but I couldn’t write a decent poem to save my life!
My homework now done and my soda empty, I walked down the long hall to my bedroom at the far end of the house, my steps sounding hollowly on the oak floors. I pulled out my journal from behind a shelf of books, and turned to the next empty page, jotting down a few thoughts before my mind wandered--I had kept the journal off and on for three years, putting down random thoughts, current events, and even some short stories--those I could write. Of its own volition my left hand began filling the pages while increasingly vivid pictures filled my head: the ride home from school...Jay stopping in the woods...his hand brushing back my hair….
With a start, my mind came back to the present moment; I lay stretched out across my bed on my stomach, my scuffed sneakers lying jumbled on the floor, my white-socked feet swinging in an arc over my back. My brown eyes fell to the pages before me--I didn’t remember writing this, so I turned back to the beginning and began to skim through the closely-scribbled text...but first there was a small drawing of two boys sitting at a table, kissing while their hands roamed over muscled chests revealed by their unbuttoned shirts.
...Jay’s blue eyes bored into my brown ones, his face lit with a small grin. Ever so slowly, he leaned in, lips pursing slightly as one hand moved softly around my shoulders--the other moving over the cotton of my dress shirt. I could hear his breathing quicken as our lips met in a gentle kiss, no more than a feather’s touch at first, but growing stronger at my own tender response; I could feel his every touch as he undid my buttons, pulling the front open so his fingers might brush over my skin, glowing softly in the candle-light. I moaned into his kiss as his right thumb drew circles around my now-hardened nipple…
...under the table-cloth, Jay’s right hand trailed down from my chest to rest on my thigh, rubbing the soft denim of my black jeans….I squirmed on the mattress, pressing my hardness into the blankets; I licked my lips, now gone dry, and let out a long sigh--this had to be my best story yet! By the time I got to the bit where Jay had slipped off his shoe and was running his foot along my shin, I had turned over and torn open my belt to free the rock-hard monster under the straining metal teeth of the zipper. My left hand rubbed over the soft blue cotton of my briefs, revelling in the semi-freedom I had opened up. My long fingers curled around the encased shaft, squeezing gently as my hand altenated between finger- and palm-strokes...it took only moments for me to feel the first damp spots of excitement through the cloth.
My stroking varied in both speed and pressure as I went on, my right hand worked its way under my tee-shirt, fondling my pecs and the few scattered brown hairs there. I managed to kick my jeans to the floor so that my socks could rub against my legs as Jay’s did in my story. Oh fuck--it was so much better when I had a real person to imagine doing these things! I could feel the sweat beginning to form on my brow and trickle down my sides, and the wet spot in my shorts, produced by my eight-inch dick, was growing by the minute! I had always kept my underwear on while masturbating, ever since my first nocturnal dream--the feel of soft cotton could set me off faster than anything else--except possibly for long white athletic socks. I closed my eyes so the fantasy could play out, my breath coming now in ragged gasps...this was going to be a good one--I could tell from the amount of wetness under my dancing fingers!
And finally...the phone rang! “What the fuck!” I yelled hoarsely...what kind of asshole calls at a time like this?! We didn’t have an answering machine yet, and we’d only had a private line for about five years--prior to that we shared our line with five or six other families on our street--so we had to take calls and write down any important messages. My right hand came from under my shirt, being the one not covered in liquid love, and jerked the receiver from the black base on my nightstand.
“Hello?!” I was less than polite, wanting to return to my frenzied fantasy, and my breath was still coming a bit raggedly….Nothing but silence from the other end...but they didn’t hang up. “Hello?”, this in a bit more calm tone.
Still nothing, but I thought I could hear someone breathing softly. Weird on top of annoying? Impatience took over--I really wanted to get back to my guilty pleasure! “I’m hanging up now if you don’t say something!” I began to move the receiver away from my ear when I heard it...a whispery voice...a male voice which sounded about my own age of seventeen.
--Dave…-- more breathing; --What are you wearing? Tell me. I want to rub my hands over your dick...I want to pull it out and suck it like a lollipop!--
Oh my God! I didn’t recognize the voice, and I sure didn’t know who ‘Dave’ was--but in my present state of horniness, I definitely wanted to be him! “Um, man--I’m sorry, I’m not Dave...you have a wrong number!” My own voice was not much louder than my obscene caller’s….
The next words were said with a mix of embarrassment, and regret. --Oh...damn...uh...I’m sorry.-- Even now, the caller didn’t hang up, his breathing still coming through the line.
--What’s your name, man? Mine’s Kurt...I just turned seventeen.-- No way was I giving out my real name! “Uh...um...I turn eigteen in four months...my name’s...um...Steve….” Despite being on the phone I was feeling a bit embarrassed, but I had a serious problem I needed to take care of….
--So, Steve...can I kiss you, and rub my hands over your butt as we grind our jeans together….--
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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