A House on a Hill

When we were growing up, my neighborhood friends, my brother and I were told never to venture even onto its overrun property. That’s why we were always wanting to check it out for ourselves.

“It’s dangerous,” Mom said from the kitchen.

“And an eyesore,” said Dad from his armchair and the TV set..

“I was there years ago,” Uncle Adam bragged. “Ceiling had fallen in, rafters lay exposed, floors sagged, spiders were everywhere. Broken glass from rocks thrown through the windows would cut through leather soles and woe be to any kid who fell down like Shorty Scott did. He ended up in the hospital. God knows why the ol’ joint hasn’t been struck by lightning.” He went back to           his magazine.

“No one’s got the authority to tear it down,” Dad commented, “since it’s on the far side of the town’s boundary.”

“And,” Mom followed up, “somehow the county property taxes on it always get paid – anonymous-like. I’ve heard.”

“I bet it’s got a ghost.”

“You don’t want to find out.”

I did. We all did. All us kids. But I didn’t let on. My brother didn’t either.

“You guys’ll be safer playing down by Big Water Creek,” Dad’s solution. “It’s wide but not deep enough to drown you if you tumble in.”

Mom jumped on that, “Harris, dear, there are mossy rocks all around there. Our darlings, George and Alf here,” she flung aside her dishtowel to hug me, “could slip on them and bust their brains out.”

“We’ll be careful. We’ll just explore along the banks. That okay?”

“Be back before sunset, you hear?”

We did. Gave assurances.

* * *

The woods were cool, especially along Big Water Creek, which twisted in its gurgling, burbling way into areas we’d never been. It was high adventure, one that got better the further we and a few buddies tracked it.

George said, “We must have gone a mile. Maybe we should start back.”

“Not with that, right there,” I pointed. An opening in the root-tangled bank stared us in the face.

“It’s a cave!” Eddie was incredulous with excitement.

We had to explore – George, fourteen at the time and a Scout, led me and the other twelve- and thirteen-year-olds up its angle in the hill. “Alf, you hold my belt in the back, and the rest of you follow suit so we stay together.”

Hadn’t penetrated the cave very far when something crawled up Delbert’s leg. He let go of me, screeching in horror and pushed past the others. Whatever it was – some terrified lizard no doubt – scrambled over Lamar’s arm and Tony’s face. They ran, too. Girls should have such high squeals.

“Well, fuck. It’s just us, bro. I say let’s find out where this goes. You feeling brave?”

“When I’m with you, I feel brave,” I assured him while trying to find his belt again.

“Why are you feeling my butt?”

“I can’t find your belt to hang onto.”

“I took it off to fling around in front of us to scare off any other animals in here.”

“Is it okay if I hold onto your back pocket?”

“Yes, but no fooling around. This ain’t a Scout campsite at night.”

At the end of our blind climb up, there was a wooden door. It opened into a murky-dark, concrete-block room as big as a basement under – we said it at the same time – “the House on the Hill.”

Groping around, we found a light switch. Bingo!

There was a big four-poster at one end, a trashcan and cabinet on a braided rug, a semi-circle of six chairs, burned-down candles stuck in wine bottles, a couple of tripods with lights on them, a wall of closed closet doors, a barrel on its side at the other end of the room near a sawhorse, and a step-in shower stall. Towels. All sorts of bottles and tubes. Ropes.

“Hey, somebody could live in here,” George whispered.

“Maybe they do. Where do you suppose those steps lead?”

“We’ll find out. You lead the way.”

I did.

My brother’s Scout hands felt my butt, but I said nothing. Felt creepy good.

Where we came out upstairs wasn’t like anything anybody ever said (to us, anyway) – and, once we turned on the lights, we realized that the wreckage people saw through the House’s windows only went so far. There was a core of clean, furnished rooms for living, TV watching, sleeping, preparing and eating food, bodily functions, and storage.

Up another set of stairs was a second floor which had two bedrooms decorated with landscape pictures on their walls, a bath between, and another, narrower staircase leading to the attic with an unfinished plank floor – I thought of splinters and spiders – and a ladder up into the spooky tower. It dawned on us, there were no windows.

I said to George, “People could be here, like living here, and nobody would know.”

“If they are, they’re not coming in from the Creek or up the drive. We missed something.”

I followed his butt but didn’t touch it until he stopped suddenly in the basement. My front collided with his back. Oops.

Not turning, just standing there, he asked, “Alf, is that your stiffie in my crack?”

I didn’t get a chance to say yes because the place at which he pointed, a door across the room, opened and a tall, skinny, very light-skinned young guy came through.

His clear voice informed us, “I’ve been watching you.”

We stared. To me, he looked like Criminal Minds’ Dr. Spencer Reid. So I panted, maybe drooled on George’s shoulder.

George didn’t speak.

“My name’s Ellsworth and you two look thirsty. Come with me to the kitchen and I’ll refresh you.”

He did, too. Delicious – like lemonade and some kind of fizzy soda mixed.

* * *

I woke up to the sight of my brother spread out on his back across the big bed, ropes holding him that way. A pair of electrical wires or some such were wrapped around each of his balls and his cock, which I’d wondered about, was standing about six inches straight up. I didn’t see the gag in his mouth. As for me, duh!

I was fastened by my elbows to a place on one wall – with something buzzing my butt!

“Good, you’re awake. You’re safe. That won’t fall out. Your brother…”

“His name is George.”

“George, then, has discharged once already. He’s working on a set of second spurts for me. I get so thirsty.”

“Mmph! Mmph! Mmph! – gagged George fired off almost before Ellsworth’s mouth reached his jolting dick.

Smiling wetly after his impressive performance, Ellsworth turned off the electricity and said, “George will sleep now, from unnatural causes.” He freely turned his attention back to me.

“You better not mistreat us. Our folks will…”

“No, they won’t. They think you’re off someplace with your Uncle Adam. I checked. Anyway, you don’t have much for me to bite, nibble, or suck. And, as for that vibrator plugging you, it’s just a start for our fun.”

“This is fun? I can’t sit down.”

“Want a stool? I’ve got one to put you on.”

When he lifted me to position the stool and sat me down, the vibrator went – whoo! – so far I had to say, “Hey!”

“Jiggle all you want, cute thing. The more, the better. Sure keeps your trifling tallywhacker hard,” he smirked at my predicament. Shrugged. Nonchalant bastard.

I couldn’t stop myself, “Yeah, but I can’t cum yet so what are you planning, you slitchy bitch?”

“Such language!”

He moved so fast, I didn’t know what was happening. ’Fore I knew it, I was tied to the bed with my brother’s icky-wet, slimy dick in my mouth, my arms and legs matching his spread, and Ellsworth was “toiling,” he said, in my butt, squeezing more and more of somethhhhing…lonnnnnnng….and smmmmooothhh.

“How you carry on, Alf. It’s only a six-incher. I’ll hold it still. Good boy, you’re going after every inch. Pump back on it some more. Wait, I’ll get a seven for your little butt’s appetite.”

I must have been cross-eyed by then. Took the new one to Ellsworth’s satisfaction. Slobbering on my brother’s re-erecting cock, I didn’t know what was coming next. The third was slicker, wider, warmer, longer – and attached to the jerk’s pelvis. His own, his personal you-know-what. Ellsworth was fuck-k-k-king me-e-e-e-e-e and his bops of my tiny tush were making me stammer on George’s now-rocklike dick, he was doing it so fast.

Don’t ask me how, but Ellsworth left me limp and paid similar attention to George. I may not have exactly resented that but I did feel a pang or two of jealousy. You know, being younger and all.

* * *

George and I practiced modeling our good-behavior roles when Ellsworth let us walk home in time for supper. We were seen by our friends Delbert, Lamar, and Tony – the ones who had run from the cave. Up they pranced.

“How far did you go?” and “Run into any more awful things?” and “Where have you been all this time?” were their prying questions.

I boasted, “We were at the House on the Hill and we saw the ghost.”

“Yeah,” George caught on, and pretended to lie, “He got us, but we got away.”

“Bullshit,” Lamar said.

Tony got in, “You’re both full of shit.”

“No we aren’t.” Defensive, I didn’t tell him what we were full of.

“If he’d have got you, he’d have kept you like his prisoners,” Delbert snapped.

My brother stopped them with, “He showed us a good time – and invited us back.”

With that, we arrived at our front door and waved them away.

“Mom, Dad, we had the best time,” I said as we washed for supper. “Big Water Creek has some slippery salamanders and plenty of crawfish that scatter and run from the little stones we tossed at them.”

“I hope you didn’t hurt them. They’re harmless,” Mom set the table.

Dad opened Uncle Adam’s evening paper, “I bet you really went to the haunted house and stood on your tiptoes trying to see the ghost.”

 George and I swallowed laughs, “Yeah, Dad. Sure we did.”

He snorted, “I’m sure you did.”

Mom put her food on the table. “Dig in, ghostbusters.”

My bountiful gay novel, “Young Edwin – Eros – Art,” is available in print and e-book form on Amazon.