The Alexia Chronicles

Preface to This Chapter:

Safe sex provided by a much-respected, light-hearted judge deterred juvenile crime in small Alexia for years. When Judge Clarence died, Alexia was thrown for a loop. Chapters 2-5 tell of the lively happenings that ensued after Chapter 1. Now, after a hiatus by the author, readers may refresh their suspicions about such characters as the area’s Sheriff, the town’s Mayor, the sneakiest Reverend ever – starting the sequence here. Chapter 6 lets you enjoy the company of young fellows Johnny and Ricky and twists in the chain of lusty events.

Outs and Ends

What’s that? Someone hitchhiking here on State Road 33c? He hadn’t seen that in a long time. Since he was on informal patrol, Sheriff Rick J. slowed for a better view.

Mid-teens, he judged. Small bag with a handle. Drew closer. Nice butt. Pretty blond hair long enough for a girl. What the fuck’s he doing out here?

 He cruised by, pulled over in front of the kid, put on his Stetson, got out, adjusted his revolver, and flashed his shiny badge at dazed eyes. “Hi there. Where’re you trying to go?”

Nervous, the boy blinked and shifted his small valise. “Alexia – it’s around here someplace, isn’t it?”

“First, I ask the questions. Who are you? Show me your ID.”

To the ground dropped the valise as the boy fished for his wallet.

“John Wilkinson. I see you’re – what? – fifteen?”

“Yes, sir. Almost sixteen.”

“Folks call you Johnny?”

“My friends. And,” he hesitated, “my mom.”

“Well, Johnny, you got some explaining to do. Get in the patrol car. Sit in front with me. A/C’s better than standing out here in the sun.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, what are you doing? You’re a long way from home. A runaway, I bet. And why are you trying to get to a place like Alexia? Fess up. No foolin’ around, or I’ll have to run you in. May, anyway, so tell me your story.”

As he listened to the antsy boy’s convoluted, slightly mumbled account, Sheriff Rick thought about the Wilkinson name. Something familiar about it.

Wilkinson, Wilkinson….

 At that moment, Johnny Wilkinson said he was “looking for a man named Abraham Falconer, the preacher.”

Bingo! It all came back. This was the kid Abe had gotten in trouble with, the one behind his being sent to jail.

Recall lit his mind.

Hot damn! Kid’s mother had walked in on them. Reported the ‘abuse’ and raised hell. Bad news all around.

“What do you want with him?”

“Oh, officer, you know Rev Falconer?” A less forlorn Johnny raised his head.

Seeing the blue-eyed angel full-face and out of the glaring sun, Rick’s manly parts stirred. He eased the crotch of his uniform.

Jesus, would I like to see that mouth on my cock!

 “Boy, we better get you something to drink and to eat, if you’re hungry. I need to check you out.” With those abrupt words, Rick drove toward Sheraton, Johnny uneasy beside him, seatbelt tight.

* * *

Alexia’s mayor, Clayton A., stared as a cheery group of teenage guys gathered around the table in the City Hall’s meeting room. All sat when he did, and looked toward him.

Stick-on tags supplied by Mellie P., the mayor’s assistant, identified Zebulon F., Lew R., Li’l Dan G., Larry (Maybelle’s boy), and young Joey, the last two having lettered only their given names. A plate piled with pecan-topped sugar cookies appeared from Mellie’s hands as she said, “I made these this morning ’specially for you all.”

Mellie retired. The mayor watched as mouths gobbled. This is a good start. “Boys, I need – and our Ad Hoc Committee needs – to hear from you about how things are going at Judge Clarence’s house.”

“Great,” Zeb spoke up. He looked for approbation from the others. Received nods.

“Details, if you please,” Mayor Clayton said.

“It’s all real clean. Roxana comes in once a week like forever, vacuums, does the laundry, makes a pitcher of iced tea for us.” Zeb noticed the mayor’s face and asked, “You mean, about ALEXIA CARES and how that’s going?”

“For starters.”

“We’ve provided care for each other, you know, and for locals referred by Principal Orson C. at the High School, like we’re supposed to. And we extended our care to some boys from over in Sheraton that Sherriff Rick brought over – Doug, Rod, Chad, and Elgin. That was all right, wasn’t it?”

“News to me. What gave him that right? I didn’t know about it at all. At least, not recently.”

“Well, Mayor, he spends a lot of his spare time with us, and he thought it’d be good if some guys like us from over there could learn how to start up a project like Judge Clarence started here. You know, to ward off dee-lin-quency.”

Remembered pain scored on Joey’s forehead.

“Joey, is something making you uncomfortable?”

Less guileful than the older boys, Joey let slip, “It kinda hurt me – at first.” In haste, he tacked on, “But I got used to it…the way a boy from Alexia is supposed to.”

The others scrambled to shush him. The Mayor ignored the slight kerfuffle.

 “Is Zeb the only one of you who can talk? Li’l Dan, you tell me something about those Sheraton boys.”

“They’re nice. All evened out now, the way the Judge would’ve wanted.”

“How do you know that?”

“Rev. Falconer told us. He’s been helping a lot. He was a good friend of Judge Clarence.”

He was not. Better play this like a poker hand, close to the chest.

 “Tell me more.”

Nobody said anything.

“Hold on.”

Take a deep breath. This is the leap I needed them to take.

 “How much time are those men putting in with you at Judge Clarence’s?”

Li’l Dan offered, “The sheriff, not much anymore. He’s got, you know, them; I mean those Sheraton boys, you know, over there. They use some barn with a lot of hay up in the loft.”

“And the Reverend?”

“He’s with us a lot. He’d like to live there,” Zeb said. “He needs the place to get going on his plan for a camp. A campground.”

“What kind of camp?” Carefully modulated, the question encouraged Zeb to go on.

“To recruit acolytes and novices for the Greater Good. I’m an acolyte already. The Rev’s first. Li’l Dan’s on the way. The Rev says our ‘celestial pipelines’ let him help us ‘seek truth.’ He wants to honor the judge by naming the place Camp Clarence.”

“For?”

“Retreats – like so he can train us to evangelize for his cause, the faith, you know. Like, not to fall into moral decline, so we can be missionaries.”

Gulp. Worse than I thought.

 “Boys, you’ve been very helpful. Thank you for coming. And be sure to thank Mellie on your way out – for her cookies.”

* * *

“Sheriff Rick, this is Mayor Clayton.”

“Nice to hear from you. What’s up in Alexia these days?”

“I need to see you right away. We have a situation.”

“Can’t be right away. I’m in the middle of a runaway – I mean, in the middle of dealing with a runaway.”

The phone was muffled but the mayor could hear a none-too-whispery, “Dammit, stop that! I’m on the phone. I told you to be still.”

Clearer now, “Mayor, how about if I meet you at Judge Clarence’s around five?”

 *

There stood Falconer’s Cadillac, parked in the judge’s hallowed drive.  Usually easy-going, Mayor Clayton seethed momentarily. How dare that charlatan appropriate Alexia’s property for his own purposes. And not altruistic purposes, but his own. Clayton was ready to storm in and toss the man out on his ear. Wisely, he chose to enter through the back door, and to secrete himself inside the kitchen pantry.

A clandestine operation of government.

Room aplenty accommodated him. Acoustics favored sounds from the bedroom coming his way. Just as the mayor found the means of focusing on them for evidence of the crime he hoped was being committed, the kitchen door was heard to open again, this time with Sheriff Rick’s voice as clear as any bell.

“Okay Johnny, we’re going to let you surprise the Rev. Go ahead. God, I can’t wait to see the look on his face. Go ahead. Wait. Let’s slip off your clothes first, then go in and throw yourself on him.”

Shufflings meant the plot was underway.

They haven’t heard what’s going on.

 A peek through the slightly ajar pantry door and the mayor’s view of naked, blond-haired Johnny Wilkinson vanishing through the bedroom door were brief instants of perception before the ruckus ignited. Two boyish voices shrieked aghast at the sight of each other while Falconer roared, “Great God Almighty! How did you get here?”

Sounds of tears. A boy the mayor did not recognize streaked through the kitchen half-clothed and ran smack into the uniformed sheriff. An arm darted fast.

“Hey fellow, let me get you out of here. My car’s just outside. And I’ll bet you’re all hot and bothered. I’ll help you and you’ll help me, and I’ll take you home wherever you need to go.”

Out they went. A quick getaway.

Mayor Clayton stepped from his hiding place and went directly into the bedroom. Naked Falconer was holding equally naked Johnny in his arms, rubbing his butt, saying, “Now, now. I’ll take care of everything.”

“That’s right, you will. Out of here now. Now, you hear me! Don’t show your face – again. I’ll have the police on you so fast it’ll make your evil face go cross-eyed.”

“Why Mayor, I’m just….”

“You’re just nothing! You’ve violated the principle of separation of government and church. This house is our local government’s property. There’ll be no advocacy of crackpot religion here.” In high dudgeon, even if he did not know the term, Mayor Clayton aimed another volley, “And that boy – what is he, a runaway? Get him out of here and out of my town!”

Falconer saved as much face as he could while donning his clothes and picking up his car keys from the dresser.

Terrified, still crazy with love, Johnny Wilkinson ran to the kitchen for his own clothes and his traveling bag. Falconer flashed a smug expression as he and the teary-eyed boy went to his car.

Mayor Clayton’s disgust showed the way he stood, hands on hips, until the two were gone. He picked up the house phone and began calling to an emergency meeting the members of the Ad Hoc Committee for ALEXIA CARES.

* * *

“What’s your name, son?” Sheriff Rick had already introduced himself to his new prey. Noted were untidy waves of brown hair, olive eyes, lithe body, worldly manner.

“Ricky Conroy.”

“How come you’re not at home wherever you belong?”

Straight out, Ricky answered, “Well, I’m living with my uncle and he’s hung like a shrimp.”

Other drivers saw the sheriff’s car swerve, and wondered.

Undaunted once recovered, the sheriff again was inquisitive, his cock on the rise. “You get fucked a lot?”

“Uh-huh.”

“How long’s this shrimp been getting your ass?”

“I guess three, four months – ever since I had to move in with him. It’s awful.”

“Where were you living before?”

“I did almost nine months in Boy’s Reformatory. You want to know why, I bet.”

Live wire? Wise-ass?

 “Tell me.” The car was finding its way to Sheriff Rick’s where the bed remained in the same condition as when Johnny Wilkinson, not long before, was in possession of the man’s outstanding manhood.

I’m going to get lucky again today.

 “Shoplifting during probation for shoplifting.”

“Go on.”

“When I went in, I was skinny and weak. Needed protection. Got it from a big-hung Italian named Carlo, Carlo Coletti. Didn’t get passed around. But I paid for it with my ass. Long about my second month, I got to like that whopper. Took it most nights – and some mornings when it worked out. Carlo called a lot of shots in there on account of his letting a counsellor-guard guy blow him regular.”

“Anything weak about you now?”

“Yeah, my ass muscles. The rest of me’s okay. I get fed, do chores, work restocking stuff at Uncle Brad’s store, get fucked – if you call what he can do with that little tickler.”

“Touch me over here.”

Rick’s bulge felt massive to Ricky, who rubbed it to be sure. “Shit! You’re big as the Reverend.”

“Better believe it. Speaking of him, how’d you hook up?”

“A guy I know from the store – a customer – he picked me up for a fuck and a few bucks – said he was big and could take care of me – you know, like what I told him I needed when he was checking out and checking me out. Six-and-a-half inches! Got together. I let him. No big deal. Yeah, like really no big deal. Him and me, we weren’t going to make it together and I told him why. Nice enough type guy, he told me he’d heard about the Reverend. Called a friend who called the Reverend who came for me and would’ve come in me if that dumb boy hadn’t busted in when he did and that mayor or whoever he was hadn’t scared me off.”

Ricky’s a talker. But a cute one. And hot.

 “You shut up when a dick’s in you?” Sheriff Rick laughed, friendly-like.

Working the uniform’s zipper down and the sheriff’s “big ol’ meat pole” out, Ricky leaned down and planted his mouth over the throbbing erection, silencing himself.

The car careened, without a witness.

* * *

At Jebediah F.’s farm just outside Alexia’s town line, Reverend Abraham Falconer shook hands with Zebulon’s tall father over the deal they had struck. The boy beamed. Jeb smiled. With the money from the sale of his house and land, he could strike out and start a new life. Zeb was in like Flynn with Falconer and his plans for Camp Clarence.

Actually, Falconer’s grand scheme was obliterated from Jeb’s mind by the generous offer for his land and the things he would do with the funds. All he wanted was the money. They would meet at a realtor’s office in Capital City to finalize the closing transaction.

“Remember to bring your title and keys with you,” Jeb was instructed, then asked, “How can I get here without driving through Alexia?” Jeb told him. It was roundabout but circumvented the town.

* * *

Ricky’s talented mouth relinquished Sheriff Rick’s cock abruptly. “Where’s this been before you picked me up? In somebody else I know. I can smell it.” Abruptly back in shotgun position, seat belt refastened, he waited. “And you better tell me everything or you ain’t getting any more of my special treatment.”

Damn! I thought I washed real good down there.

 Steadying his steering wheel, Rick thought – He is a wise-ass! – but decided to see what the effect would be if he told his captive passenger about trysting with Johnny Wilkinson.

Reducing speed and talking nice and easy might get Ricky’s tongue and teeth back in action.

Might keep his thought focused up close and personal if I tell him about the recent sex.

 “It’s like this. Johnny was lookin’ for a fuckin’ – and I thought, ‘Why not me?’ His old lover, the one he lost to jail, Falconer’s been screwing the boys back in Alexia, so he’s gotten a lot of ass, while I been scraping by. Like you, Johnny was all hot and bothered with need. At my place, he told me stuff he wouldn’t have said otherwise, but….”

“But what? How’d you get him to tell you?”

“I’ll show you soon enough when that thing you’re neglecting is pushing at your navel from inside and you’re begging for more – and I stop. Worse, I’ll pull out and leave you squirming. If you want to know, you’ll tell me anything, the way Johnny did – to put out your fire.”

With a thought or two ahead, Ricky unfastened his seat belt. He breathed in and out, determined to come to terms with this Sheriff, terms favorable to the lay he was expecting to provide.

“Goddammit, that’s how to gulp a dick, Ricky. Lemme move my seat back to give that head of yours more room. Oh man, you’re go-o-o-d.”

By the time the patrol car pulled into the Sheriff’s carport, Rick had described Johnny’s amazement that his “love tool” was as great as the Reverend’s and the boy’s willingness to “show it love and respect” with his body.

Out had flowed accounts of how proficient Johnny had become during his affair with the court-appointed shrink, one Dr. Apollyon. “All legal-like,” the sex had not overcome Johnny’s desire for Falconer. Helpful adjustments between sessions of his dildo-belt meant his “hole was always ready.” Apollyon had intended Johnny’s openness for their protracted counseling sessions in his commodious home office’s private room where their romance started. Little did he realize that the more he “did his own thing,” the more avidly the boy craved returning to Falconer’s embrace.

“He’d blurt out something to keep me going in him, the little rascal. I’d give, I’d take away. He’d demand, I’d light into him,” Sheriff Rick admitted to Ricky. “I’m telling you, you better be good if you want to come anywhere near what he gave me. Let’s get in the house.”

How Johnny thought being crushed face-down by Falconer’s weight and driven into until he “saw double” had Ricky burning! He took over the Sheriff’s’s buttons, belt, holster, zipper, boots, socks, pants, and shirt before his own – to the man’s ever-focused eyes.

Rick tormented this new boy by going on about how Johnny’s had appeared to be a fine example of maturing boyhood. By that, despite his young age, his bone structure and its overlays of youthful muscle and unblemished skin had proportions and grace between manliness and femininity. Hot!

Rick’s deliberate dwelling on Johnny’s story frustrated Ricky’s desire from its intended goal, the proving of himself to this attractive lawman. Rick held him at bay, telling Ricky more about the other boy he had had in his bed that day.

Graced with a face acne-free, eyes glitteringly bright, ears and nose of diminutive scale, and a dainty mouth, Johnny had caught Abraham Falconer’s attention full-on. Before a whopping crowd, inner alarms had locked Falconer’s nervous system in mid-service. Wound it tight. His exhortation of the scripture faltered in mid-service at church. Suddenly, he had stopped.

“Hear me,” he called to the heavens, “there is among us a conflicted young soul mightily in need of salvation. I see him – there! Deacons, help that boy – yes, the one in white – help him to my study in the back. His mother, too. The lovely lady beside him. Her smile says it all. Now, as the organist and choir lead, everyone join in singing that great hymn, Bringing in the Sheaves.”

Mrs. Wilkinson, smitten as she was initially by Falconer’s suave attentions, needed little persuasion to entrust her son to the famed preacher for “exercises in maturity.” The Reverend’s quarters, even the Wilkinson home (when Mom was away), led to testing and proving Johnny’s aptitude for instruction in the fine skills of divinely inspired lovemaking. Time was taken with the starry-eyed teen who responded by soaring from admiration through adulation to adoration – in fact, n all-points worship with his devoted body of Falconer’s “Staff of Life.”

During a spectacular tryst, disaster struck hard. Falconer was in-deep, flagrantly skewering the cooing boy (long past the time when he ought to have departed) and firing powerfully into Johnny’s bottom, when Mrs. Wilkinson dropped her packages, shrieked, dialed 9-1-1 to scream “RAPE”, and dashed to her bedroom for the pistol she had for protection. Arrest and prosecution followed, casting Johnny into depression and the clutches of Dr. Apollyon. No wonder he wanted to reunite with the love of his life, Reverend Abraham Falconer.

Decidedly not interested to hear any more about the boy he had encountered so dramatically just when Falconer’s cock had been beginning to work its glory inside him, Ricky threw his nakedness against Rick’s own, lifted himself to the man’s lips and began kissing him wildly. With reflexive muscularity, Rick reached for Ricky’s legs and picked the boy up.

Two fingers felt elasticity and lubricity. Yes!

On his back, Ricky flung himself wide for Rick’s dick and thrust, abandoned his shoulders to strong hands, joined his ankles in forcing the man’s drive, and spat, “Finally!”

Only the whites of the ex-inmate’s eyes greeted his fucker’s.

The telephone. Rick’s cell. Goddam ’phone just when…

Sheriff Rick slacked, stopped, groped, found, answered, listened.

“Officer Bruno from the State,” he covered the mouthpiece – as if Ricky cared who it was. He wriggled. His body wanted to keep going.

“An all-points BOLO out for Abe and the Wilkinson boy – already?...She’s claiming – what? – that he abducted the kid?...You know better than that. We – I mean – I just saw them hitting the highway…Bound, I guess for Abe’s place…Well, either to hide or…Hell, I don’t know…Johnny’s crazy for Abe… Mayor Clayton did what?”

A sudden grunt burst into Bruno’s ear. “You hunkered down with some cutie?”

“Ungh! I’ll take care of you in a minute. Sorry, Bruno, I am into a little something here and the situation’s critical. I’ll call you back. Stop it! Just wait…Umm, like that. Oh yes…Er, Bruno, be thinking about us – you and me and Abe – how we must keep it on the QT. Maybe check in with your friends in Capitol City… Yeah, those guys. Okay?”

Bruno’s deep voice dropped lower, “When you’re done with whoever that is, can I have a crack at him?”

“Bruno, I’ll let you know.” Click.

“At least you didn’t go flat on me. Now, let’s see what you – ohmigod! That’s it. That’s where it goes! Fuck me, man. Fuck me!

* * *

ALEXIA CARES’ Ad Hoc Steering Committee, augmented by two new members, convened to discuss the emergency.

“As I see it, we trusted men we shouldn’t have,” the Mayor said to his friends – farmers, tradesmen, and Alexia High’s principal and the Police chief. “I’d resign, but that would be to abdicate my responsibility as mayor.”

“Nobody wants you to resign,” shopkeeper Joshua S. looked in agreement with other expectant faces around the table. “We just need to put our heads together and figure out what to do.”

Dan G. rapped for attention, “Guys, I maybe shouldn’t be here.”

All heads looked his way.

“I sold my farm to the Rev. I’ll be moving out of Alexia. My son, Li’L Dan, is going to stay on there with the Rev and,” he glanced at Jeb B. across from him, “your Zeb’s going to, too. Right?”

Jebdediah B. coughed up a, “’Fraid so.”

Step-brothers Orson C. and Mark C. joined actual brothers Thomas B. and Gerald B. with mixed surprises on their faces.

“Maybe I’ve had too much involvement, what with introducing this Committee to Sheriff Rick and Abe Falconer,” Thomas said. “I had no idea they’d run wild with it – you know, Judge Clarence’s house. I should hang my head. I’ll leave.”

From the Mayor came, “Oh shut up. Nobody’s going anywhere. Joshua’s right. Let’s do what he says, figure this out.”

“Yes, Dan?  What now?”

“I think you know, the Rev bought my place so he can make a camp – Camp Clarence – where he can…”

Mayor Clayton’s mouth tightened. “I can imagine. So can the rest of us, ’specially you two,” he pointed at Dan and Jeb. “Alexia can’t do a thing about that. Outside our jurisdiction.”

Joshua laughed, “There’s our solution. The matter’s not going to be in our hands but the State’s, if the State gives a darn. Alexia can now sell Judge Clarence’s house and reap the benefits to our coffers. Who was it coined the phrase ‘The best of all possible worlds.’?”

“Leibnitz,” answered Mellie from the doorway. “He wrote it. Voltaire cribbed it. Here’s a plate of my cookies for y’all. I’m done for the day, Mayor. You lock up, y’hear?”

Heels clicking on the linoleum, she was gone. Left the ALEXIA CARES Ad Hoc Committee agog.

* * *

“Take a minute and get over it,” Ricky told panting Sheriff Rick, who rolled off. “Drink some orange juice or something. Fact, let’s both have some.”

“Cokes. I have cokes.”

“They’ll do. Got a lot of sugar in ’em, I hear. Brings your energy level back up.”

“What about yours?”

“Hell, man, I’m thirsty. I’ll settle for ice water if you’re worried my energy level.” Ricky farted, and headed to the restroom, where noises were made and running water heard as he whistled a happy tune. Perhaps that one of Disney’s?

Down and up went Rick’s Adam’s apple as he guzzled carbonated syrup. Its refreshing hit in his stomach and resulting belch did key in a returning sense of vigor.

“You promised to feed me,” Ricky came in drying himself. “All I got was that raw meat of yours – only not to keep. Actual food – you got any? I’m hungry.”

“In the ’fridge, there’s peanut butter, mayo, and a banana or two. Help yourself to a sandwich. Light bread’s in the pantry. Maybe brown. Which ever’s freshest. Make me one, too.”

Elbows on the table, they ate. Between bits, Ricky asked how Rick had gotten into law enforcement.

Relaxed, Rick recited the version of his story he had always used.

“Old Sheriff Bob in Hope took me under his wing and kind of brought me up to be his successor. You see, when I was about get into some teenage messes, he noticed. Really took ahold of me, gave me personal attention and, uh, physical training.”

The point registered with Ricky, whose toes touched Rick’s, understanding.

“Stuck with me you might say,” he went on, “then looked out for me. Tended to me like I was his crop. When the time was right, he helped direct me toward the Police Academy, later hired me as a rookie to help him patrol Hope, made me his deputy and, when time came for him to retire those years ago, led the campaign to get me elected,” he smiled proudly at Ricky.

“He fucked you, did he?”

“Sure did. That’s the way things were done back then.”

“Now you’re fuckin’ me – and I like it. So, how ’bout us teaming up?”

“How do you mean?”

“You keep me under you, guiding me and stuff. When I’m ready on account of you preparing me like he did you, get me into the Academy. I want to be like you. ’Til then, I can keep you happy, fuckin’ and all, make you sandwiches, you know, do chores here. Live here – with you.”

He’s serious.

Both burped. Two jars – mayonnaise and peanut butter, lids rescrewed – were deposited in the refrigerator. The knife was washed.

The view of Ricky’s backside heading to the bedroom charged Rick’s blood supply. Deftly, as the man’s brain came to life with intentions clearly carnal, his circulatory system activated Rick’s auto-cock function. It sprang to life. His breath quickened.

“Say, you need some more work on those muscles of yours?”

“All over. You made a good start. The special ones are revving up.”

His large protuberance preceding, Rick followed. Bare feet padded on flooring.

“Lube?”

“Need some this time, do you?”

“All cleaned out. So, what do you think?”

Glinting eyes drifted to what Ricky had called a “big ol’ meat-pole.”

“You give me good enough head again and that’ll be enough. Natural-like lube’s best when you really want to feel this thing of mine doing its job. You can judge how much’s just right.”

Gag-deep again and again, Ricky anointed every inch with slime and saliva while Sheriff Rick stood, fists-on-hips, watching, relishing the sounds, the sight. Adrenaline surged. Excitement empowered.

Ricky’s waiting time was short. Yet on his knees, he was faced away and given a push to the bed. Arms, head, shoulders, chest, and stomach slid across the sheets. To the side of the mattress was mashed his erection, straight down.

“Spread your knees.”

Fingers circled to seize his balls. “Wider.”

Two pillows were taken, placed as cushions under Ricky’s knees. “Good position. Here comes a reckoning with those weak ass muscles of yours.”

Effortful, Rick’s entry wedged through, inching its way forward until well-seated to groans from the aspirant. “Go to work. You want to join me in public safety, you gotta be strong inside and out. This is your first drill, me drilling your ass in training – now go for it with all you got.”

Young hips reflexed.

A sigh escaped Rick’s throat. He’s testing me! Side-to-side, around, back and forth like I did him. But can he bring me off?

Ricky’s best was not enough. Minutes passed. He had to admit, “I’m worn out.”

“Then I’ll fuck you proper, boy. Don’t resist. Go limp. You’ll know what being under my guidance means ’cause I’m gonna drive you all the way on the bed. Unless…you…chicken…out!”

Contractions of abs and glutes sent Rick violently into the teen as so many bombardments in a blitz. Ricky’s tensionless body moved, painfully forcing his erection against his balls. He felt something like gristle snap. Did he break my dick? Brute force drove his pelvis and thighs away from their source, Rick, who gloried in his dominance.

A yap from submissive Ricky stopped him. “My dick. Let me fix it.” With a hand quickly down and back to ease his still-hard, if sore, penis into comfortable position, Ricky said, “Whew. That’s good. Now you can plow me as much and as hard as you want,” muttering under his breath, “if you’re up to it.”

Somehow, Ricky’s words, the earnest way he said them, and his willingness flipped a neglected switch in Rick’s emotions. He gave over to the moment. All the years getting off his rocks with Pearl and any willing boy. All the years of screwing his way through life, mindlessly applying his authority from above, of being a fuck-’em-and-leave-’em guy – what did it mean? He had never warmed to anyone. Now this.

Lust – he never lacked that – became something he feared: emotion. Throat clenched, head swimming, breath labored, he slowed. No longer attacking just another butthole, he roved carefully, smoothly trying to soothe. Trying to show that he cared. He did care – now. “Ricky,” he managed, “why are you so good to me?”

“You dumb shit, don’t you realize I want to love you and for you to love me?”

Time stilled for seconds until Rick could find the unaccustomed words, “I…guess…I…loveyoutoo.” His rush spoke true. In what may have been embarrassment, Rick dislodged himself to roll Ricky from the supine position in which he had been objectified and onto his back where, with visibly wet eyes, the boy, as a person, welcomed Rick’s return with opened arms, legs, and heart.

“Oh god, I actually said it,” Rick admitted without shame, rather with pride – and began to cover Ricky’s face with kisses. Tongues and mouths together, arms wrapping each other, fully cleaved, ecstasy collected and encompassed them. Love thrummed, rising and falling to and from climaxes neither had experienced.

Eventually, they ebbed and lay back.

Partners.

If you’ve stamina for an anally-erotic adventure by a recent high school graduate of genius-level talent in and out of the not-so-innocent art world, it can be found at Amazon. 

Thanks to gaydemon, my sex-driven stories about music education, small town and “farm” life, even high culture of the historical sort await your pleasure here.