Donny and Clyde

PREFACE:

A story by my friend Ryan Jones inspired me to the present undertaking, a story in which all the action is sexually motivated. The sex is varied in multiple directions some of which, doubtless, is not to every reader’s taste or proclivities. It has been my happy decision “to let the flowers bloom” – even flowers some may think evil. For sure, sensual, and suited to the characters. May you find it fascinating to read, perhaps even enjoyable. I did when writing it. FEC

Donny and Clyde Part One

[Dedicated to Mark McElroy]

* * *

On its stomach, the young man’s deeply sleeping body was an object, alive, totally relaxed. Its unconscious mind nursed from the nipple of too-soon forgotten memories. Its overall numbness housed a semi-conscious brain that perceived neither the bedclothes being removed nor the room’s cool air settling his skin. Donny Timms was unaware of being lubricated and that a penis, long and hard, was lodging in his core, so stealthily were these actions performed.

The man’s weight and the warmth it brought elicited a reflexive moan, and roused Donny to the point of identifying the cause. There was some inconvenience.

A muffled “What?” was barely discernable. But, as he gained consciousness, “Hey, Mr. Victor, that kinda hurts,” came out more clearly.

“Let it pass.”

There was no point in resisting. The fuck already had begun – without him. It behooved the young object, in the throes of personality reclamation, to accept, to adapt. Clyde Victor’s bulk and position prevented any movement. Stillness hung over their forms.

The man’s nose began to trace the ridges of the hustler’s exposed ear. The nose moved over to the long eyelash, teasing it this way and that. Lips kissed the cheek below, then sought the earlobe. Those rare kindnesses gentled his subject, who sleepily accepted what he normally would reject. 

No attempt on his mouth. Donny Timms did not kiss.

Not until his client’s hands went under Donny’s chest to find its two most responsive areas and to begin working them – in concert with nibbles to the boy’s neck – did the desired reactions take place: a shudder, a hard-on, and a flush to his face.

Mine again. Helpless. Available. Ready.

As if to establish himself further, Clyde Victor stirred the now hot passageway ever so slightly.

“I may not be clean.”

“I’m using a condom.”

* * *

When they returned from Donny’s pickup point late the evening before, both had showered and the wily hustler had washed out his back passage with care.

Mr. Victor used it with demand exceeding that of their night together a week before. Rough. The guy loved to pay for an ass and pound it to shreds.

But, he had paid well, so Donny could deal with whatever this evening brought. A pro, after all. Not gay, just a whore.

* * *

Streetwise since sixteen, Donny Timms had become inured to emotional feelings about sex with guys. He wanted easy money, a decent place for the night, and to please with hands (in a few cases), ass (more often), or mouth (most often). If he could get it thrown in, breakfast, too, after an overnighter.

Donny never wanted to be hurt but could take some spanking if there was extra for it. Turned some guys on.

He could fend off nut-cases.

A wrestler-client named whatever – it didn’t matter anymore – taught Donny pressure points for nerves that disabled. There had been a few of those in the teen’s path.

Nicest guy to sidetrack him was a college professor, something-Dawson. Old man. Wanted Donny to settle. Not in the cards. But so nice, always asking how Donny was doing, what did he want to eat, how about some vegetables? Not gushy. Loved Donny’s buns – to look at, to stroke, to finger, most of all to screw.

Old man Dawson could screw and pay compliments the whole time. Good at both, the guy made certain Donny came when he did. So nice about everything, Donny never charged him. Even tried to help a little with the dishes before being taken back or given bus fare and enough for a burger and fries. All he wanted from the man. Best thing he ever did for Dawson was to wake him up in the middle of a night after they’d done the deed, get him hard and sit on him to the old guy’s delight.

When the chips were not falling his way, Donny could count on Dawson.

* * *

With this Victor guy, Donny, a quick learner in bed, had to show patience. I gotta wait for him to take the lead. Then, I gotta respond.

Simple thoughts let Donny drift before. Some now recurred as he wakened to Mr. Victor’s near rape or whatever it was. Old Dawson flashed by.

Never hurt me. But this Victor… He expects me to take him any damn time, hard as he wants.

The attentions to his ear, eye, cheek, nipples, and neck, as well as Clyde Victor’s oddly motionless presence so far in him were reassuring. At least, for the moment. Thus, he let familiar sensations of present pleasure take over for what he imagined would turn at any moment into a wild ride.

Second guessing the man had not been possible last week or last night. He would break up a steady, tough fuck with some jolting drive or crazy angle. Or slap Donny’s butt cheeks.

Was this morning a joke? Donny was being treated to unhurried moves of such subtlety as he had never felt. By fractions of an inch, his interior was being massaged. Strokes and their reversals alternated with languidly drawn circles.

Now he’s actually being sweet to me, like yesterday in his car when he held my hand – before he brought me in here and jammed me into the sheet and fucked my ass off. That was rough! Last week, too! Good pay, though. Kept his word about that.

Another flow of warmth suffused the hustler at the gentle touch of Victor’s lips returning to his neck. There was now no urgency. Every gesture was sensual. The tip of his tongue went to Donny’s ear, not in but around it, provoking a shiver. Hard to figure out.

He’s freaking me out.

Initial achingly-tight adherence of his lower tract to the man’s huge invader lessened under the unfaltering gestures of Victor’s slow, fluent, carnal probing. What seemed sensual for many minutes evolved, as the session continued, into something profoundly erotic.

Street-hardened Donny was unglued by this evolution of sensation, his emotions having no clue as to the direction they should take. Without intention on his part, the boy’s sphincter alertly closed against the penis’ base, contracting its bulging vein underneath and causing Clyde Victor to discharge himself.

Donny felt the pumping of the man’s essence and heard him sigh. He had to marvel that this event was not accompanied by sudden, long draws across his prostate. He marveled further when the circling and stroking motions commenced again their deliberate course, Victor’s erection intact. Donny’s body blushed, too, perhaps from embarrassment at having presumed to predict what the man might do and having been so wrong. Then came awareness that he had yet to experience orgasm.

Got it! He don’t want me to cum. That’s why he’s not screwing the way he did last night when he was pile-driving. He’s dragging this out. Why the fuck?

No word was spoken. The delicate grinding in, out, and around at the young whore’s maximum depth had become additionally lubricious from seepage being forced from the man’s condom, adding to the stimulation of both.

Clyde Victor, mind enjoying the moment, kissed Donny’s disheveled hair, damp from body heat. And continued at his task. The purpose remained beyond the whore’s perception. He was too wrought up in what was transpiring from moment to moment. Clyde had no doubts. In a while, after he spent himself once more without letting Donny react, he intended to bring on an orgasm solely for Donny’s enjoyment. He won’t know what hit him. Clyde’s second thought, Rubber’s in the way.

The sloppy condom was stripped off and discarded. Victor slid rapidly back in.

Persistence paid off. This boy, completely at his disposal, relishing the novel attention, gratifyingly compliant, and not knowing what to expect, proved unable to prevent another contraction.

He’s enjoying me. 

 He felt the man calmly unload for the third time. Fewer breaths, perhaps, than before. But, this time, the seed planted themselves thoroughly inside. Donny noticed himself sucking air through his mouth while Clyde, completely still for a beat, took up his job as the boy’s unrelenting master. More minutes at it.

Without warning, the hands securing his chest were pulled away to take Donny by the shoulders and to tug him backward, not to increase his penetration – that would be impossible – but to get him to his knees. Clyde Victor backed up accordingly, pulling the now butter-soft bottom to a new position off the bed, one which angled toward him. His head and shoulders remaining in contact with the sheet, Donny now imagined a pounding.

Wrong!

With his eyes closed and his head where it was, he could not see what was happening, but he could feel fingers taking the tip of his penis and fondling. Never touched me like this. First time, last week, just grabbed and squeezed. Said it’d make me pay attention, but he never jerked me off! 

Trapped in place, jerked and fucked at the same time, Donny yielded to the movement within. It increased by several inches the distance to and fro, yet changed neither its path nor rate, nearly driving the boy mad with the desire for relief. He concentrated on the unfamiliar stimuli of the man’s actions in front and behind.

I gotta cum!

To ease his anguish, Nature assumed control by ordering a ferocious, abrupt reflex of his pelvis that wrenched another orgasm from the man and sent the surprised eighteen-year-old a blinding explosion.

Clyde’s hand caught all that ejaculated. He removed it a second before they collapsed, still connected, in a heap, both drawing breaths as they could.

Donny smelled the hand before it reached his mouth.

“Open. Swallow it.”

He had never done that. The idea was outside his frame of reference. Such had never been required of him, nor even suggested. His own cum…

“Now.”

He slackened his jaw. The liquid – viscous, salty, tangy – was smeared against his lips.

“Lick my palm.”

“Ya gonna pay extra?” asked the mercenary.

No answer.

Not sure about any of this, Donny responded with hesitation when Victor said, “Do I have to tell you twice?” Worded as a question but unquestioningly an order to be obeyed, it motivated the boy’s tongue to lap what it could. He managed to choke it down about the time another imperative was issued, “Suck each finger. Get everything.”

He sucked each of the five. There were no further demands. The situation was over. There was a curious emptiness after his client rolled from him.

In the lull which followed, Clyde Victor said warmly, “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Donny replied with the same inflection.

“Are you ready for breakfast?”

* * *

Back home on Friday afternoon from lecturing on his campus, Prof. Wilfred “Will” Dawson (“Dr. Dawson to you,” he told first-day students) busied himself with outercoat, briefcase, car keys, and checking the answering machine. One call: Donny, saying very fast, “I’ll call back.”

A warm spot bloomed near Dawson’s elderly heart, hardhearted Donny Timms its unlikely cause.

Never stole from me nor caused a problem. More than a year I’ve wished he’d give up the streets and be my bottom. Fat chance. No excitement here, no danger.

Wistfully the way older men think about boys they’ve loved to fuck, Dawson started his early evening’s pot of coffee, fiddled with leftover potato salad from his refrigerator, and began to heat a chicken breast he’d brought from the faculty cafeteria along with some of their overcooked broccoli. Sat to eat. Absent-mindedly turned on the local news.

“There was an attempted murder today in the exclusive Harborwood Springs neighborhood. Police have released very little information so far, citing their ‘ongoing investigation.’ Our local news team found that the address, surrounded by crime scene tape and squad cars, belongs to popular romance novelist Clyde Victor. Mr. Victor’s wounds were treated on the site by emergency responders. More on this story at eleven.”

A flick of his wrist turned off the news. Dawson’s head turned, too, towards his phone which began to ring.

“Donny!” he said aloud.

“Hey old man, can I come over? I mean, can you come get me?”

“Where are you?”

“At Mayvis’ Drug Store. You know where it is. Please. I wanna see you.”

“Harborwood Boulevard and Seventh, right?”

“Yeah. I’ll be over near bus stop.”

“Fifteen minutes, depending on traffic. You okay?”

“Yeah.”

* * *

As he drove, Dawson recalled a warning concerning Donny that friends Mark and Brad had been vocal about months ago. “That kid has a terrible reputation,” they said. A hustler jealous of Donny’s popularity had claimed that “Donny would cut out your liver with a dull knife if anybody gits in his way, or don’t pay right.”

Traffic wasn’t bad. The professor made good time. Hell, he never showed that side around me. As he maneuvered through an intersection, Dawson let his mind turn to the good times he’d had with Donny’s ass on the end of his dick. A favorite time was when Donny knelt on both knees on the side of the bed, his butt protruding at the height of Dawson’s fired-up crotch.

It was a pleasure to recall the hustler’s words, “Stick it in now. Smooth and deep. You’ll like it, old man. It’ll get the lead outta your pencil.”

They’d laughed, but the fuck was marvelous – smooth and deep, as promised. “Divinely so,” Dawson had characterized it to Mark, who told Brad, who looked at the ceiling and crossed himself. Brad was not Catholic.

* * *

Donny slipped in, shut the door and slumped. Down. Below the car’s window.

“I guess you’re in some sort of trouble?” was Dawson’s quietly spoken question.

Donny nodded. “Not yet, anyway. But…”

“Okay for now, but when we get to my house, you must tell me what’s going on.”

In Dawson’s carport after the necessary minutes, Dawson was low-key, “In your sock over there, Donny, what’s that?"

“Switchblade.”

“Hand it over.”

Reluctantly, Donny did so. “Guess you wanna know what’s in the other one.”

“Looks like a stash. What is it?”

“Three hundred bucks. I got paid. Earned it.”

They went in the side door.

Donny ate some leftovers and made a bologna sandwich. He had been hungry so many times in his life, Donny ate whenever food was available. Downed a soda. Belched. Helped to clean up. In silence.

* * *

All day outside, doing whatever he had done, left Donny and his clothes in need of hot water and soap. The old man pointed to his washing machine. Donny stripped. Stashed his cash in a shoe. Within moments, he was splashing in Dawson’s shower. Minutes later, clean enough he thought, Donny was next to Dawson in the bed. Both naked, propped on pillows. Will Dawson’s hand played lightly on Donny’s hairless chest.

“So?”

“So, you wanna fuck me?”

“Always, but not before you meet your end of the bargain. Now spill it, Donny, and don’t leave anything out.”

Out came Donny’s version of his two trickings with Clyde Victor. Nothing outside the parameters of whore-client, cost-effective, transactional sex – until the present morning’s breakfast. Didn’t involve the money.

“Mr. Victor paid up. He tried to make me eat – yogurt! Makes me puke that stuff. Looks like glue. Tastes worse. Gag! Puke! Tried to make me. Wrong! Told ’im, ‘I want eggs.’ Fool got on his high horse and was gonna make me – make me! – he said – make me swallow that crap. And he grabbed my hair like I was some sorta pussy-woman. Shoved that stuff at my face. This face! I fought back. Landed a good ’un on his nose. He fell off his damn chair, knocked over the frying pan, hit the floor, ’n’ the frying pan hit ’im on the head. Didn’t kill the bastard. Jus’ messed him up, but I got my ass outta there ’cause I knew he’d call the cops.”

Will reached over a squeezed Donny’s mouth into a big poochie-pucker, “That’s it? All?”

Donny’s tongue poked out, pink and cute. He liked old man Dawson.

Dawson let go. Reached in the other direction for his phone.

While waiting for the call to answer, he asked, “Donny have you ever had sex with a completely bald-headed guy who has a red moustache?”

“Yeah. Sucked him a few times. Name’s Sal, or something. He’s okay.”

“Sal, it’s Will. How are things in the Criminology Department? Good. Listen, I need a favor. No, not over a parking ticket. You know any of the detectives looking into the so-called attack this morning on Clyde Victor? I saw it on the news. Yes. Yes? Can you, on the sly, find out what the story is before the eleven o’clock news tonight? You do and I’ll tell you why I want to know. Thanks, dear.”

Donny looked. Will looked back.

“You wanna get your condom now?” Donny rolled to his side.

“It’s been a long day, Donny. But if anybody can make me forget being tired, it’s you.”

Slicked, blunt fingers found the boy’s hole and began rotating outside it. Donny moved his left leg away to show his cooperation. He felt the nice old man’s breath warm in his hair and recognized the familiar feel of his hairy chest against his shoulders, then waited. Finger moved around, just inside and back out with tender slowness.

Taken away, all of a sudden, in went the man’s penis, riding on its condom’s lubrication.

“Uh-huh,” came Donny’s usual I’m-okay sound.

Taking up the same pace for his strokes that he had used with his fingers, Will probed Donny over and over. When he had become used to it, the boy succumbed to the fuck’s slow, droning effect and gradually grew limp, secure in the man’s arms. Sleep did threaten to overcome him. Instead, he drifted away to the deliberate ins and outs like a child in its cradle, his bottom being rocked into by Will’s lengthy motions.

God, this is satisfying. He soaked in the clinging warmth, ready to succumb to his own fatigue – when the phone rang.

He answered, having safely pulled out of his night’s bedmate. “Hi, Sal. Hold a sec while I go in the other room. Yes, there’s somebody here and he’s asleep. All right, I’m in the bathroom. What did you learn?”

Sounds of acknowledgment later, he said, “I get it. He’s claiming he was attacked by an intruder – who got away and left him to die? Question, was anything said about yogurt being all over the scene?”

Will chuckled the more he listened. “That’s a wonderful report. I’ll check the news at eleven. Here’s a deal I have for you. In the morning, bring over a quart of fresh orange juice at eight sharp. I’m making a whopping breakfast – you know, blueberry pancakes, warm maple syrup, sausages, and eggs for a special guest. You’ll be special guest number two. And yes, you’ll be pleased because we are going to do some investigating on our own.”

* * *

Prone, his stretched out body seductive in the room’s morning light, Donny’s covered warmth responded to the touch of Will Dawson’s fingers reaching beneath. Delicately, the sheet and blanket were drawn away. Will caught his breath. Donny’s entire back – flawless beauty: shoulders, waist, and bottom – compelled him toward the fleshy crevice

He nudged there but did not enter.

“You want it again?” The voice asked with something like drowsy innocence.

The quality of it caught Will off guard and caused the man’s heart to race. Where is that coming from? I’ve screwed him many times. He’s never sounded quite like that. Will’s chest pounded in turmoil that called for immediate gratification. For the satisfaction of lust. More, possibly. Was it the danger of a possibly-accused criminal being willing to get fucked?

Old man Dawson’s move into Donny Timms came as a thrilling, agonizingly slow slide from tip to base. The boy’s reaction was to lie perfectly still. He did gasp at the early morning fullness but said nothing. The old man’s ball sac nestled into his upper legs. Seconds elapsed with both figures immobile.

“Is it too much too soon?” The question came in level tones after the man regained possession of his own breath and as his pulse calmed. Only his pelvic area touched the boy’s behind, for Dawson remained poised, arms supporting his upper body in anticipation of Donny’s expected, “Go-ahead.”

What he heard, murmured quietly at a lower pitch than before, was, “I’m okay. Fuck me.”

Those words together with a clasp of Donny’s insides around his cock galvanized the old man into spasms of piston-like motions. Consciousness gave way to primal need. Pounding against the curves of that beautifully receptive butt and into its heated depths became an end in itself. There was nothing else. Sensation only. Pure sensation. Over and over went the thrusts, again and again as sweat began to add a reflective sheen to the two male bodies. Sounds of deep fucking joined those of breathing that increased with the rhythm.

A certain alarm rose above the rest, a signal to pierce Dawson’s vaulting euphoria and to catch his attention. Not yet. Not yet. Not… The man groped for the will to forestall his climax. He found control, and pulled away until just the head of his shaft, which burned with desire, remained inside the boy. The muscles in his arms throbbed from effort. They had been holding him away from contact with all but the boy’s backside. If he were not to lose control at this extraordinary moment, then his arms had to sustain him where he was.

From experience, the savvy whore knew the old guy’s predicament. He let a few moments pass, then had the idea to urge him on with, “Unngh, I’m waiting.”

Donny pressed his legs outwards against the man’s knees and said, “Lemme get more open.”

It was the distraction Dawson needed to quell the threatening onrush. Shifting one leg at a time but holding his place inside, he allowed Donny ever so carefully to spread-eagle himself. He looked down as the soft-haired head turned on its pillow. The sight of such youthful anatomy so wantonly arrayed – which had few precedents (other than innocent Douglas, he recalled) in the professor’s life prior to being brought together with this wicked lad – made his head swim. He felt reassuring touches at his wrists.

“C’mon, fuck me.”

The phrase caused Dawson to drop his body atop Donny’s with relief and to slide himself so far into the smoothed hot tube that he could feel his tip punching its inner turn. Donny let out a rush of air but welcomed the crush of weight and closed his eyes when Dawson’s cheek pressed against his own. A moment of total immersion of the one with the other.

The boy’s widened muscle began to caress its suitor; the pelvis that contained it started the merest rotation, without will, instinctually. No thoughts occurred to either. Their union took over. Together, they orgasmed, Dawson into Donny, Donny into the bedsheet.

Donny forgot to moan.

Neither could move. The damp bed and bodies cooled. Eyes blinked in the morning glare. Prof. Dawson stirred.

I’m not emeritus material yet!

He whispered into Donny’s ear, “Let’s get cleaned up so I can make you a real breakfast – no funny glue. Everything you like, Donny. And,” he whispered, “I’ll give your back your knife.”

The whore actually grinned, and dashed for the bathroom. This guy’s my friend.

* * *

Sal’s arrival in Will’s kitchen preceded Donny’s, wearing two towels – one around his waist, the other over his shoulder – and, with shakes of his wet head, casting sprays of droplets.

Dawson thought, Like a dog which was caught out in the rain.

“I’m ready to eat,” Donny said, winking at Sal, from whose hand he took a glass of orange juice and swigged it.

Sal laughed, joking, “You look good enough to eat – me.”

Donny, feeling feisty, said, “If I don’t get some real food soon, I might have to crack your nuts.”

“Coming up for my customer,” Will joked, wielding his spatula. “Help yourself to the coffee. Bacon’s in the oven. I didn’t have sausage like…”

Donny, filling a mug, looked over his shoulder at Sal, “Give you one guess where he put his sausage last night and this morning.”

“Who-me?” shrugged the man at the stove.

The silly mood prevailed while the night’s layover ate everything he was served. Urged by the offer of as many refills as he wanted – “I have plenty of eggs,” Will assured him with a pat – Donny slowed, chewed more thoroughly, and went over everything that had happened at Mr. Victor’s.

Will and Sal nodded, asked for a few clarifications, had some coffee themselves, let Donny ramble until he had a question for them. Not, as they expected, about whether the law was after him, but about the strange, protracted fuck Clyde Victor had delivered before their fracas.

“What d’ya think he was up to, besides me, I mean? I mean, he was real hard on me last week and the night before last. Only yesterday morning, it was all lovey-dovey kissing and slow-motion shit. I don’t mean it didn’t feel good, but it was weird. He ain’t like that. And I heard from them Segura twins a while back that he fucked ’em both with, like, twisting their arms and, like, squeezing their necks. Crap like that. I’da cut his…”

“…Liver out with a dull knife?” Will joked with a raised eyebrow and a tip of his mug.

Sal wanted to know, “Did they fight back? They’re both kind of big.”

“Naw, they’re pussies, and dull in bed, I hear.”

“We know,” Will was amused. “Our friends Mark and Brad picked them up – you know, they do tandem fucks when they can find two hustlers – but said John and Alvis acted like they weren’t interested and kept saying, ‘Hurry up. Get your nut. It hurts.’”

Donny put down his cup in disgust, “Hurts – them? They’re twenty. Their old man – no offense – and his brother, their uncle, were fuckin’ them since they were, I don’t know, maybe fifteen or even fourteen. Hurts? Gimme a break. And some more coffee, please”

“Gents,” Sal interrupted, “we’re off the subject. I’m interested in what Clyde Victor’s up to. Who do we know who knows him – and that’s in-the-know?”

“Eugene Claxton in the English Department,” Will offered.

“That guy?” Donny’s ears pricked up. He the one that’s real tall and bony and likes ’em young?”

“Probably.”

“He wants my little brother, Jimmy. But Jimmy ain’t ready.” A thought later, “Anyway, I don’t want that guy to git ’im. Jimmy’s gonna be for you, old man.” Donny’s was a broad, proprietary smile. “You’ll treat ’im right.”

To hide his blush, Will Dawson made the call. “Gene, Will Dawson here. Sal Poole from Criminology and I need some information about – did you hear it on the news? – about Clyde Victor… Hey, man, no need to blow your cork… Okay, you don’t need to whisper either.”

Sal held a hand to his mouth, “Psst, Donny, don’t you need to brush your teeth or something?”

“You mean, you wanna go in there with me? What for, a blow job?” Donny grinned.

“Obvious, am I?”

“I saw. You got a hardon watching me eat.” As he said that, Donny flicked his tongue at Sal. “Okay, I’ll do y’ for trade, seeing how you’re gonna help out.”

They waved in Will’s direction. He covered the phone to remind Donny that his clothes were in the dryer, and went back to Gene Claxton on the  phone for such information as might be forthcoming, an eye on the randy pair. The two men chatted.

Donny calculated the approach he would use. He knew Salvatore Poole’s cock, knew it was always clean, liked the way it was circumcised, did not mind sucking its six inches. Also, Sal never took long – not when Donny Timms swung on him.

The man’s jeans were open by the time Donny, sans towels, had his mouth ready, moistened. Luck’s winner (A freebie from Donny – wow!) leaned back on Will’s unmade bed and watched the pro extract his cock, look at it, reach down to free his balls, and start with them.

Sal loved having his balls licked.

Donny’s tongue was everywhere, lapping wetly. His lips sucked in gently one testicle and caressed it, then the other, a hand keeping Sal’s cock up and away. “Gotta breathe, y’know,” Donny said, before making love with his mouth to the plum-shaped head. Tongue held still, Donny rotated his own head on its flexible neck. He used his teeth to tease, the very tip of his tongue to tickle the head’s slit, pinched wide between thumb and index finger.

Sal’s hands clawed Will’s sheets.

The underside of Sal’s penis was hypersensitive. A thumb pumping against or stroking it provoked precum. Donny’s tongue, ahead of his open mouth, sweeping down to the balls and goosing them placed the engorged head directly against a uvula which produced clenching muscles to send the good man into irreversible orgasm. He convulsed into the bobbing mouth and bit his lower lip trying not to make too much noise.

Rapid swallows convinced him of Donny Timms’ status as – Sal declared to observant Will, now off the phone –“the greatest cocksucker in the world.”

Smug, Donny went to use one of Will’s toothbrushes. And mouthwash.

* * *

Simplicity marked the most important news for Dawson’s refugee. Thanks to the phone, Sal’s detective contact, Richard “Dick” Watson acknowledged a scuffle had taken place and that Victor was trying to gain attention by going public with a lame story of assault. Sal, with a twist of his red moustache assured Donny that he need fear no prosecution for anything that occurred at Victor’s. No trouble from the police.

“Dick says Victor tried to claim he’d been robbed of three hundred dollars but when he opened his billfold there were other large greenbacks which hadn’t been taken. Bungled that. No sign of an illegal entry. His claim of attempted murder was laughed at when Dick inspected the kitchen scene. Looked like nothing more than a clumsy accident having nothing to do with money” – he blew his nose for effect – “but over cheap, house-brand, maybe outdated Greek yogurt.”

“Told ya,” Donny said, vindicated. “Smelled worse’n shit.”

“Best part’s next,” Sal tugged the other side of his moustache. Dick, who said Victor’s bandages made him talk funny, dismissed the other officer with him and” – Sal made air-quotes – “sat straight in front of the author of this prevarication to ask bluntly whether it was some lady of the night on a diet who wanted yogurt which he had tried to take away from her.”

A fetal ball of laughter – who else? – Donny the hustler.

“Dick needled him further by wondering whether it was ‘a lady from the park’ such as Sally Rank or maybe Big Rose.”

Donny’s mouth hung open. Speechless at so absurd the idea. Them bitches with that creepy queer!

“Or, Dick said he pushed further, was it one of the town boys that park patrols had seen him pick up occasionally? Victor wanted a lawyer after hearing that he might be charged with making a false police report. Only trouble, the news people were after details of the robbery-assault-murder-attempt. The more Victor waffled, confused his story, the worse it got for him.”

“Sal,” Will asked, “did Dick touch on what happened before the incident in the kitchen?”

“No, it was obvious there’d been one or more sexual encounters.”

Donny waved two fingers. One for night; one for morning.

“Real messy condom on the bedroom floor. Traces of fecal matter on it. The usual tube of personal lubrication. Victor turned pale when he was confronted with the evidence being dangled before his bandaged face. But he turned white when Dick asked whether the boy he fucked was underage, because that would only make matters worse. The fool protested, ‘Donny’s eightee…,” before he choked on his own admission. Dick then rose and quietly said that he would prepare a statement for the media and that, with or without a lawyer, Victor had better get his thoughts together for a statement of his own.”

The three sat in thought about the revelations which they now shared.

“Y’know what gets me?” Donny asked. “What was all the lovey-dovey stuff about when he was fucking me. I mean, he came four times!

“You think he was up to something?”

Lanky Gene Claxton showed up at Dawson’s door, saw Donny, and asked “How’s your little brother?”

“Still a virgin.”

Will caught the drift of an insult coming up. There was something Donny evidently disliked about Gene. He spoke up, “Gene, come in and join us. We all will be hot to learn what you have to say additionally about that creep Victor. What you hinted on the phone elevated my curiosity.”

From a comfortable arm chair, sipping fresh coffee, scholar-gossip Claxton reported that Clyde Victor’s romance novels were languishing in book stores as readers’ tastes moved to wildly popular writers such as powdery-sweet Barbara Cartland and gutsy Danielle Steel.

“Tame by comparison to the heaving bodices and pulse-pounding passions of those women and a host of others, Victor’s tepid tomes were pushed aside and buried in the marketplace. He hasn’t received any royalties in months. There’s more, Miss Carp at the Library – she’s our resident lesbian – thinks he’s so desperate he may try something in the gay-romance arena.”

Suddenly interested, Donny looked up, “What’s that make me – some kinda experiment? Least I got paid.”

Gene Claxton concentrated on the hustler’s rapid-fire account which Sal and Will knew already. It ended with Donny’s voice trailing off , “Least I got paid.”

Gene laughed in surprise “Why Donny, that’s exactly what he was using you for – as an experiment for a pretend-book. He was researching your ass for material to make up a character’s sexuality in some half-porn, lovey-dovey book.”

“Well, he damn sure wasn’t payin’ for that!” Donny was adamant.

Out of the blue, Will asked, “Where are you spending tonight?”

“Downtown, I guess, in the park with my buddies. Smoke some weed. I got money to feed us.”

“Before we do anything, how about we check the news?” Sal said. “Channel Six is coming on about now.”

Eight minutes in, the Clyde Victor scandal was a fading item: “Novelist Clyde Victor has admitted staging an event at his home as a publicity stunt. His claims of robbery and assault against an unnamed assailant have been debunked. He will plead guilty to several misdemeanor charges in civil court tomorrow. Detective Richard Watson told our Action Camera that he is glad the matter as originally reported was not evidence of an increase in our community’s crime rate. Now for sports…”

Will sprang to his feet, “Gentlemen, this calls for champagne. I’ve got bottle. Donny, help me in the kitchen. We’ll be just a minute.”

“I never had no real champagne,” Donny admitted. “What if I don’t like it? You got a soda?”

“You know I do. Fall-back position only. And you just follow my example with sipping the good stuff. Watch me, Donny. But now, take down those tall-stemmed glasses up there and open a can of mixed nuts from the pantry while I open this.”

‘This’ was a bottle of Schramsberg Brut Rosé. Its cork’s pop amused Donny, who plopped a handful of nuts in his mouth before the wine reached anyone’s lips.

“Donny!”

“Oh, guess I was supposed to watch you.”

“He looks like a squirrel,” Sal said, raising his glass at Donny’s packed cheeks.

“To Donny,” Will said, “may he not have any other close scrapes in the near future. Now let’s all touch the edge of our flutes for the toast.”

Flutes? There ain’t no flutes here. Skin flutes down at the bus station, I know. And toast? These are nuts. Nuts, not toast. Well, here goes.

Donny went along with the men, enjoying the attention. He got rosy in the face after the others shunned refills in his favor.

Good-nights were said. Donny faced Will.

“If you want me to take you back, I will, but you’d be smart to stay here one more night. You’re a little tipsy, Don. Somebody might take advantage of that and steal your money.”

Weaving slightly, he said, “Not if I have my switchblade.”

Neither seemed to want to make a move. Then Donny looked up, “Why’d you call me Don?”

“Seemed to suit a grown man. I think you’re better than a Donny. I think you can get past that, get past your rap sheet with the police – or have you forgotten you told me all about how long it is, Don?” The emphasis registered with more impact than Will knew.

“Damn, old man, why don’t you forget anything?”

Dawson held up his car keys with a questioning look.

“It’s the weekend. You ain’t got no lectures to do, right?”

“Right.”

“C’mon. Let’s go. I’ll show you the way.” Meanwhile, an idea had taken shape. A damn good one.

* * *

The way was not to Donny’s hang-out park but to a seedy part of town, to a run-down tenement.

“Stay here with the doors locked. I’ll be back. Just stay here, okay?”

Litter, garbage strewn about. A streetlamp broken. Down the block, kids loitered. Looked his way. Threw pebbles at a stray cat. Arguments could be heard. Minutes passed. Dawson grew more and more uneasy in the hostile environment.

Two figures burst from the front door and hustled to Dawson’s Nissan. Although the light was dim, Donny was the first.

Knocked on the back door, “Open up. Let us in.”

Donny and his sixteen-year-old brother Jimmy were in the back seat. “We’re going to your house.”

On the way, Dawson acting as chauffeur, Donny Timms’ running commentary, laced with profanities, drew Dawson’s eyes frequently to his rear-view mirror. Lights from the street and passing cars glanced over the face of a blond boy girlishly pretty – Jimmy! Sporting a black eye!

“I see y’ looking,” Donny said. “We got him outta there before our old Man really hurt ’im. Now I want y’ to do me another favor. Pull in over there at the chicken place, drive-in lane, and don’t ask no questions. You,” he said in a low voice to his brother, “wipe your nose.”

Entertained to a degree by the goings-on, Dawson observed Donny pay for several buckets of extra-crispy chicken and bags of French fries and demand handfuls of salt packets. His change counted, he directed, “Let’s go to the park. Lotta hungry kids there.”

To avoid a parked patrol car and any possible questions, Dawson took a side street, entered the park from behind, and waited for Donny to come back through the bushes in near darkness. From nowhere, he told Jimmy, “I’ve got food at home, if you’re hungry. You’re going to be all right, what with Don looking after you.”

“You calling him Don? Only person did that was our mama.” His youthful voice lapsed into silence.

“What does your father call him?”

“Shitface or Shithead.”

Dawson was sorry he asked. No wonder these kids are so hard.

* * *

At old man Dawson’s place, Jimmy fed and showered, submitted to his brother and Dawson steering him to the bedroom and going over his body’s bruises and abrasions. He accepted crushed ice in a wet rag for his eye.

“Pretty, ain’t he?” Donny said. “Cock’s not much, but look at that ass. Beautiful! Nobody’s been in there. He’s done some suckin’ and been sucked for small change. Right? You payin’ attention?”

Hustler salesmanship, brother for brother.

“Y-e-a-h.” Jimmy’s feline languor charged Dawson – the way he stretched his light-skinned, young flesh and body as if wanting another form of attention.

Enticing beyond belief. Within reach – mine – if this evening plays out. 

Donny seemed to get pleasure from stalling the situation by moving about his brother’s ice-pack-free, limber arm to display pink, plump nipples; shifting his legs to expose firming inches and draping scrotum; turning his pelvis to show again what he called ‘a ready ass.’

“You gonna fuck ‘im or what, old man? He’s gotta learn if he wants to make it out there. Won’t let me.”

“Jimmy,” Dawson managed, “it’ll take a while to do you right, but I think you’re ripe for it. Fact is, Don loves it even though he’s not gay, and he’s good at it – great, I can tell you. You like sex, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but I ain’t doin’ it with him,” he pointed at Donny. In the same breath, Jimmy reached for and, through tight trouser material, felt Dawson’s ample erection from one end to the other. Provocatively, he retraced the newfound inches as he said to his brother, “Get lost, will ya?”

“Got any bus tokens?” Donny asked. “I ain’t got the right change.”

“In the drawer by the front door. Take as many as you like.”

“Catch you soon.”

With Donny gone, the very naked Jimmy Timms smiled lewdly, ice melting around his eye and running down the swan-long neck to Dawson’s pillowcase. “How y’ want me? Like this?” He rolled face down.

Just like that – the easy way out? Not in my house. He’s here for lessons…

[Continued in “DONNY AND CLYDE PART TWO”]

F.E. Cooper's stories are found here on GayDemon.