Hair of the Dog - 1. Part One: The Beginning

.

Getting Fucked by Junior,

or

Hair of the Dog that Bit Me

"A lad of life; an imp of flame,

Of parents good; of fist most valiant.

I'd kiss his dirty shoes, and from my heartstrings,

I love the lovely bully."

William Shakespeare

An Erotic Tale

by AC Benus

His brothers were afraid of him, but I thought Junior was fucking hot. He was like a teenage Paul Newman with long hair, and he knew it.

It was a spring Friday and he had picked me up from school. In the fall I'd start high school, and this dirty-blond Apollo of a brute would enter his fourth year. He had muscles up the wazoo, and I licked my lips to think just how muscular his ass really was as it stretched those faded jeans. He got this buff, and his sexy coat of tan too, working out on his uncle's farm, which was just south of town.

"It's gonna be a fucking wild night!" he called out. We were alone. I watched his good mood from the passenger side of the front seat. His hand bounced rhythmic fingers on the wheel, and his head bobbed on rocking shoulders to the song blaring over his Monte Carlo's glide.

Hair of the Dog, he really loved that song.

I was buddies with his brothers my own age, Roy and Randal, who were identical twins. Whenever the three of us were in his car, Junior would pop in that song, and drive like a bat out of hell.

"You ready, little man?" he sang to me. "It's gonna be crazy!" He drew out the last 'eee' sound and kept those sky-blue eyes locked with mine.

"What we gonna do?"

"It's a fucking secret, but your mind will blow, little man. Pop. Just explode!"

He was in a good mood. All I wanted to do was climb in his lap; I wondered if he had any idea. I looked down from his shaggy ear-length hair, which was still moving to the music, to scan his biceps. He was wearing a cut-off white tee that hugged his chest and rock-hard nipples. I followed it down to the legs of his work-worn jeans. His thighs tensed and released almost orgasmicly, and his bulge jostled his goodies side to side like the tender, but heavy plums of the hottest summer days. God, I wanted to touch. What would he do? Fuck – he had me getting hard, again.

We came to a red light that was about a block away from Randal and Roy's school. He turned his song down and held my gaze pretty seriously.

"Hey. This ain't no joke now. You brought your gear, right?"

I nodded.

"We're doing some stuff tonight you shouldn't tell anyone about. Get it?"

"Yeah, sure, but – what stuff?" I bet I had a shit-eating grin smeared on my lips.

"Fucking wait, little brat. All I can say is, your life is about to change." His lower lip hinged open a little. That pouty curve was full no matter if it smiled or looked concerned, like it did now. The fleshy part of it, along with his totally kissable upper Cupid's bow, flushed; his naturally peachy cheeks did too.

"Drugs?" I asked. "Beer?"

His head shot back, his tongue made one sharp click in his closed mouth. "No. You are WAY too young for that. Your parents would kill me; my parents would kill me, shit, no – not for you – not yet."

"What then?"

"Initiation, little man. As for the rest, you'll have to keep your little Woody Wood Pecker waiting." He glanced down at my crotch, and smiled with all his teeth.

Fuck. Did he know I was hard, hard just being this close to him?"

The car started to roll again. His hand reached for the volume knob. But before he got there, I grabbed onto it. His fingers were firm, his flesh hot and dry.

"Wait," I said. "I wanna know something."

He made no attempt to pull from my touch. In fact, I could swear he was trembling a little bit.

"What?"

"I wanna know what that stupid song means! Hair of the Dog that Bit Me, what's that?!"

He like pulled his foot off the gas, 'cause I sort of leaned my face forward in the car. In that momentum, it struck me that I had never been alone with Junior before, not just him and me.

Now he bobbed that Adam's apple of his, turned to me, and slowly drew my hand towards him. He laid it open-palmed on his thigh, about two inches lower than the ridged folds of his fly. His broken-in denim was soft as lamb's wool, but his tensed muscles rock-hard beneath. The heat from them shot up through my tightening grip like fire.

He patted the top of my hand. "It means – son – to be on a borderline. To wake up in the morning after a wild night like this one is gonna be for you, and think, 'Fuck! Am I gonna go back and be all remorseful, shamefaced, and a whiner – or am I gonna have some more hair of the dog; more of that thing I desire and that feels so right."

Fuck. I so wanted to do it. To just rub. To walk my fingers up to his zipper, to maybe just lay my head in his lap and wait. Wait and see, 'cause I suspected he'd take his free hand off the wheel and run fingers through my hair. I then could take that hand, open it flat and press his hard palm to my lips, suck the root of his fingers and flit my tongue over and around the base part that is like webbing, and maybe I could make him moan. Yes, make him look down at me, and maybe I'd feel his dick grow hard against my ear as I turn to let it out, and begin to kiss and lick it; to take out his plums and kiss them too, because they will be farm-fresh and savory.

Instead, after a couple of hard squeezes, I pulled my hand away.

"You're full of shit," I said.

He just howled to the ceiling, jacked the volume on his 8-track player, and pounded the wheel.

We pulled up along the curb in front of his brothers' school. The twins were nowhere to be seen, so he switched off the engine and we waited.

The 'wild night,' as I understood it, was this: I was staying the weekend at their house, and later on in the evening their parents were going out. They were leaving Junior as babysitter, although they suspected him of being a hellion. What Junior was planning after that, I don’t know, but I suspected it included the two or three other troublemakers he always hung around with; his 'gang,' as his brothers called them.

In his wife-beater shirt, and with his devil-may-care attitude, Junior seemed to fulfill the low expectation forced onto him through assumptions. He appeared to many a bully, but he was not. He was the guy insecure jerks picked fights with so that later they could brag that they had gone up against him. To me, he was the opposite of a bully, for he let me see how he'd walk up to and shoo away real bullies from younger kids; kids like me. Junior to me was shelter, and he made sure I knew that.

Although always respectful towards me, he could be rough with everyone else. Like after his brothers climbed in the back seat and started pawing me and chanting "Look who's staying the weekend!" Junior reached back and cracked both of them with hard knocks to the skull. "Knock it off," he said. "Show your guest some courtesy – dipsticks!"

As he leaned back to do this, his underarm had opened to me. It smelled spicy and hot, like some soapy aftershave, but under it was an earthy muskiness too – a smell that was deep and brooding. The dirty-blond curls of short hair glistened there in faint moisture. A little crescent moon of perspiration soaked the crotch of his cut-off tee, and it dawned on me. That dark scent, the light and shadow glint from his fair armpit hair, and the perfect pouty dip of his sweat, was intriguing in the same dark sensual allure I thought Junior's personality was like. Savage and tamed, open to all, yet reserved for just the few he lets in to see the real him.

After he smacked his brothers, his grin on me was warm. So warm, in fact, it seemed downright nice – and that was something almost no one was allowed to see from him. Then that hand withdrawing from the backseat came to rumple the front of my hair. It sounded from the inside like sandpaper on my brain, but unexpectedly, his fingers opened up at the last moment and smoothed my sandy hair flat. He pulled away, but not before grazing fingertips over the side of my ear and cheek.

His song started again.

"Heart shaker, soul taker …" he intoned, looking at me from the corner of his eye. "I've been warned about you." He slapped the wheel, and bobbed his head. "What they've been singin' must be true."

I pursed my lips and stared at his profile, wishing like all hell that I had kissed that palm, and those fingers caressing me, before he took them away from my flesh.

"Now you're playin' with
A son of a bitch.

Now you're playin' with
A son of a bitch...."

He sang his song to me, almost as if it were an invitation by way of warning.

Fuck! I was hard again.

˚˚˚˚˚

Randal and Roy joked and poked me into their bedroom. I dropped my duffel bag and kicked off my sneakers. I sat cross-legged on Randal's bed. Unlike Junior, they had chestnut-brown hair, but were pretty well matched as twins. It was just that Roy was about a half-inch taller, and had a couple pounds on his brother.

They started changing out of their school clothes, and Roy closed the door. I kicked my hands back, and watched them. Randal stepped on the heel of his boat shoes and walked out of one; he repeated, and pulled his button-down shirt over his head.

Roy kicked his Nikes off. They banged the corner between the door and the closet. He let his belt flop open and unzipped.

Randal sat on the bed opposite me. He grinned and held both of his white socks up to my face; his toes were still in 'em!

"Smell 'em…or…suck 'em? – Your choice!"

I slapped his feet down and he ripped off his socks. He flung them at his twin's ducking head.

Roy was down to his briefs, and I sort of had to laugh. In front of a not too shabby bulge was a cartoon-looking red and blue Spiderman on a white background. He was deep in a crouching position with his hand thrown out. These briefs looked a couple of years old, 'cause they were tightly pressed on his cock and cupped his balls strongly. He whipped off his tee-shirt as his twin stood up.

Randal unzipped, let his pants fall and stepped out of them. Since he was so close, I caught a musky scent coming from his shorts. He wore white briefs, in fact, they were a lot like the ones I had on.

As Roy came to sit on his bed, Randal pulled off his tee-shirt and rubbed his chest all over. He made a relieved sound and plopped next to his bro. He scooted close, so their naked legs touched all the way from big toes to upper thighs. Roy spread his legs, and the dark gap tween his ball pouch and leg opened up for me to see.

Both of them just grinned. Damn twins; whatever they were thinking, they were thinking it together.

"What?" I asked.

Roy started: "Aren’t you…."

"…Gonna join us?" finished Randal.

I stood up. "When in Rome!" I pulled off my polo shirt and unclipped my belt. As the boys watched, I unbuttoned my jeans and pulled them down to my ankles to kick off. I could see my partial erection surprised them, but I sat down again. I leaned back, spread my legs, and let them have full sight of the tent pole I was pitching in my BVDs.

I held up my right foot to Randal.

"Smell it, or…." I let the rest dangle. The twin slowly took the back of my lower leg with his left palm and supported it. With his right hand he latched onto the fallen striped part of my tube sock. He pulled it off my foot. A quick glance, and I saw Roy touch his fly; saw him caress Spidy's crouched body.

My hand went up to my tit. I stroked it, and Randal's lips took on a sneer. He leaned forward, holding my eyes, which narrowed in anticipation. He brought his lips to my big toe.

He kissed the underside of it. I saw Roy's free hand go to his brother's fly. He slipped three fingers in it.

Randal parted his sneer, and my big toe slipped into his mouth. He tensed his lips and created suction, which I felt shoot up my spine to my tit. It got instantly erect and flared. Randal's tongue found the divot between my big toe and the next one.

He let my foot drop, then glanced at his twin. Roy withdrew from Randal's fly and jostled beckoning fingers towards my left foot.

I lifted it to him. He pulled off the sock, but instead of letting it drop, he brought it to his nose and inhaled. I played with my other nipple, and Randal's hand stroked my thigh, inching up to the crack in my briefs between pouch and leg. Roy sucked on my pinky toe, and made me moan.

"Shush…" Randal cooed, as his pesky, invasive fingers freed my dick.

Roy ran his stiffened tongue all along the backline of where toes become foot, his twin caressed my pee slit with the aching precum pooling there.

"Fuck," I moaned again. "Is this what you boys do after school everyday?"

They laughed, and I could swear that was a 'yes.'

"Come on." Randal stood up, letting my cock slap my belly. He made a friendly fist in my face and one-twoed my shoulder. "I gotta take a piss."

He started for the door, and me and Roy stood up. I had to yank my dick up so my erection would fit. My hot cockhead pressed my flesh under my waistband, and gradually started to go down.

Roy's hand strayed to my ass cheek. He gave me a good slap.

Randal opened the door and tiptoed out into the hall. His hand covered his underwear bulge like a fig leaf.

We followed suit.

In this house, the three sons shared two bedrooms with a bathroom in between. The parents' bedroom and a private bath were across the hall. The coast was clear. The three of us went into the john, and Roy closed the door. He also locked it. The room was tiled and reminded me of Jonah – of what he would have seen if swallowed by a pastel salmon instead of a whale.

I had an odd perception entering this room. Hard to put a finger on it, but for half a second I thought Junior was in here.

I sniffed around. Yeah. That was it. This room smelled like Junior, maybe not his bass notes of earth and sunshine, but those high tones always on his skin. There was that spicy heat, almost like olive oil, and that other scent I associated with his head. It was like a lemon wedge rubbed over a drippingly ripe slice of melon.

Randal went to the toilet. He popped up the lid and took down his drawers. He freed his cock from clinging contact with his nuts and played with the tip.

"Come on," he said.

I went to the far side, and Roy stood right next to his bro; again their legs were in full contact. Roy pulled the red band of his Spiderman briefs down and shot his hips forward for a second. His dick and balls sprang over the elastic, and he let go. The tight shorts pulled them up nice and pretty.

They licked their lips at each other, then eyed my crotch. I used my fingers to press my prick head downwards inside my pants. I then pulled up at the gap by my leg and let my dick and balls flop out. My erection was mostly gone, but my cock stood up somewhat.

Now both boys were fingering their own dicks and aiming them in the bowl. I followed along, and I also took a half step over so my body was likewise in full contact with Randal's skin, from base of foot to top of hips.

Soon a three-legged race of piss flowed out to meet as a solid stream over the center of the bowl. We all giggled to feel this physical relief with each other – we each knew without a doubt what the other two were feeling at that precise moment. How rare is that?

I admired the boys' cocks. These meat sticks were twins too, nice and long, even without being hard, and somewhat fat around the head. We were all about the same five and a half inches, but in my twitching grin I wondered how much bigger Junior grew. Their balls were a perfect set of four. They were tight under their cock bases and sprouted some nut-brown hair. Their pubes were pretty full – fuller than mine – and exactly the same color as on the top of their heads.

We dripped and lost our contact of piss. Soon my stream sputtered and Randal reached over and shook my tip for me. It was hot. I leaned in and took his dick between my fingers. It was harder than mine. I used my ring finger and tapped it just at the spot underneath where the hood sweeps up to a point. He must have liked that, 'cause as I readjusted my grip, and tapped harder, I felt his cock stiffen quite a bit.

Roy reached over and moved my hand to his cock. I made an 'OK' sign and stroked him. He too began to get pretty hard.

"Later," Roy said. "I've got an idea."

We three stepped back and put our dicks away. Randal, in the central position, leaned in and flushed.

As I turned, I noticed the shower. The curtain was back. A wire shelf under the showerhead held 'stuff.' One thing looked out of place. A twisted cloth rope in light green. At the bottom, both ends disappeared into an olive-colored bar of soap.

"What's that?" I asked the twins.

Randal looked in at what I was pointing to.

"That's Junior's soap-on-a-rope."

"Soap, on, a rope?"

"Yeah. It’s new. You ever hear of it?" Roy came up too.

"Un-uh."

"Well," Randal chuckled. "It’s what guys use in prisons."

"Really. Why?"

Roy draped his arm over my chest. His hand grazed my nipple.

"'Cause," he started, "you don't want to drop your bar when you're naked…."

Randal continued: "…Because when you bend over to pick it up, Blam! – you get raped."

They both played with me for a second, making me forget all about soap-on-a-rope, but then I raised my arms and shrugged their hands off my body.

We went out in the hall. Their dad was there. He was a burly guy, about forty, with a close-shaved head, and enough muscles to move a mountain. We boys stopped giggling, and like in Genesis, our own nakedness confronted us.

"What the…" He did not continue. Instead, his hands went to his belt band, and his head shook side to side.

"We're just changing, Dad!" Roy told him.

"Come on," Randal said to me, and we went to their room and closed the door.

˚˚˚˚˚

Ten minutes later, we ran out of the house to catch the last of the warm afternoon.

Funny thing was, at home, these twins dressed alike, but not so at school. So now both wore white tennis shorts and yellow and brown striped tee-shirts. They were barefoot and I followed that, but slipped on my jeans and a red tank top to run around in. I loved the feel of grass between my toes. I smiled, realizing it was a lot like having the twins' tongues down there.

"Catch!" Roy ran about five yards over the spring grass, turned, and tossed a Frisbee hard in my direction. I ran towards its trajectory, and dove at the bottom of its falling arc. My hands clamped onto it.

"Over here!" Randal was running like a linebacker over by the shed. I half-stood and launched it at him. He started running, not watching where he was going. At the side of the little building was the driveway, and somebody stepped out.

I wanted to yell out, but before I could, the guy raised his arm on purpose, and the side of Randal's face ran right into his leather jacket.

Howling laughter erupted as Mr. Leather Guy was joined by another young man in a maroon windbreaker.

I rushed to Randal. He was on the ground with the two hyenas hovered over him.

"What the fuck!" I yelled at the leather dude. Now I recognized them – Junior's associates – teen rapscallions and Juvie Hall denizens.

I knelt at Randal's side. He was propping himself on one elbow and using that same hand to check for blood around the corners of his mouth.

The windbreaker one stepped up to my side. "Who the hell you think you're talking to like that, little boy?"

Roy arrived and helped his twin stand. Roy spat out at Mr. Leather Jacket: "What'd you do that for, Jett?! Dickhead."

"Hey, I'm talking to you." Windbreaker's hand came up to my face. I smacked it away. I bet he thought he could actually slap my cheek.

"Leave him alone!" Randal sputtered, now looking queasy, but on his feet. "Brody, watch it."

"Watch it, or what?" Brody rustled his nylon-clad arms around my ears.

"Or else," Junior said. He smacked his fist into his palm; not hard, in fact, its menace was gentle enough to raise goose bumps on a stone.

"Oh, hey." Brody jerked his chin in greeting. He stepped away from me.

Junior asked them with businesslike aplomb: "You guys get the stuff for tonight?"

"Yeah, yeah!" Jett was all smiles and quick muscle movements. "It's in the trunk."

"Sure," Brody cronied. "We're set real nice." He let a lingering smirk fall on me. I felt like spitting at his feet.

These loser punks were a bit mismatched. Brody had been a promising football star for the first two years of high school, a tight end, but something had made him quit. Pot, maybe. He was built like Junior – buff – but he had a bigger ass than my farm-boy Apollo. This shelf of muscle was highlighted by the tan chinos he wore. His complexion was a little dark; his last name was Italian. His hair was dark and close-cropped.

Jett was lanky; his torso bobbled in his bomber jacket, and his gray jeans cinched his waist pretty tight. He always wore a 'fuck you' grimace, and would jerk his head and ashen hair like he had other places to go. He had no time to waste on you, that was the impression. Over that sneer floated a peach fuzz 'stache trying to come in.

"Ok," Junior said. "I've got a new AC/DC tape. Let's go to my room and hang out."

The two jerks headed off, and by their apish arm slaps, they were apparently pleased with the havoc they had wrought.

Roy took Randal to the house to see if he was hurt. That left me and Junior standing in the grass.

His eyes kinda nervously darted to the backs of his buddies walking away. He put his hand on my shoulder, and the fine hair on his arm shone like spun gold in the tilting sun nearing the horizon. The soap-on-a-rope smell that I now had a name for bloomed up to me from his underarm.

But there was something weird on his face. He brought his lips together and dipped his Adam's apple. Then he slowly blinked, and I swear, for a second it looked like he was about to cry.

His voice was low and serious. "Did he hurt you?"

"No, Junior." I half smiled.

His hand flexed on my shoulder. "Well," he said, "if he ever does, or any – or, if anyone thinks that they can disrespect you – you tell them they'll have me to answer to." He patted me hard. "You understand, little man?"

My hand crossed my chest and went up to the top of his. I caressed it slowly. "Yes, Junior. I do."

He released a pent-up breath; one maybe he did not know was being repressed. He held my fingers for a long moment, and then he walked away.

From behind, I watched him slip his hands flat into his back Levi-pockets. His ass sure looked good: muscular just like his chest; like his arms; and like the hand of his that still felt warm on my fingertips.

I raised them to my lips, kissed them slowly, then I used those same stiff digits to rub my crotch. Fuck.