BRIAN & THE BAD BOY
I should have known that inviting Casey Renning over after school would end
up in disaster. Well, okay...not a bad disaster. Kind of a good one
actually. I mean, he didn't burn the house down or kill my sister. With
Casey, trust me, both of those things were entirely possible.
No, it was a pretty safe disaster, as far as property damage goes. As I
think about it, looking at the matching cum stains on my floor, there were
parts of this particular disaster that I'm very eager to have happen again.
Let me explain.
My name's Brian Barrett. I just turned 14. Nothing too impressive about
that. If you ask me, 14 feels like 13, and 13 feels like 12. Maybe that's
the way life works. You go through year after year aging, and you never
feel older than 12. Jesus, wouldn't that be scary?
Anyway, I'm getting off the subject. Back to Casey.
Casey Renning has been a thorn in my side since kindergarten. An
interesting, alluring, exciting and frustrating thorn...but a thorn,
nonetheless.
Living in a small town, the kids are the same, year after year. New ones
pop up and old ones move off, but for the most part, it's the same mix. So,
basically, if you wind up sitting next to an asshole for that first milk and
cookie break when you're five, you better get used to him, Sparky, because I
guarantee, you're stuck with him for life.
And boy, have I ever been stuck with Casey.
In first grade, he pinned me down on the playground, sat on my head and
farted right up my nose. I should have known right then we were destined
for glory. But of course, being a moron (i.e. "a nice, sweet boy," as my
mom puts it)...I figured I was cool enough and smart enough to keep Casey on
my good side.
Besides, even back then, there was something curiously exciting about Casey.
Even though he was mean to me, there was something about him that captured
my attention and just wouldn't let me go. His picking on me made me feel
important somehow. I mean, don't get me wrong. He's still a grade-A,
number-one butt hole -- and there have been times when he's been downright
mean to me -- but as crazy as it sounds, there's something I like about
that. I don't know how to explain it other than saying there's some kind of
tension between us. Something that feels dangerous. Even back then, on the
first grade playground, it felt dangerous and good.
So, in second grade, half scared of him, half-amazed, stars in my eyes at
his nonstop daring, I started doing his homework for him. True to form, he
repaid the favor by spilling his apple juice next to me in the lunch room
and telling forty people I pissed my pants. He got a major date with the
principal's office, and I got a ride home from the guidance counselor so I
could change.
But I laughed about it. Outside, I had to act like it pissed me off. But
inside, I thought it was very, very cool. I liked the attention. Casey
picked on a lot of kids. But when he did it to me, it felt special somehow.
He never beat me up or anything -- for some unknown reason, he spared me
that particular joy (lord knows, he shared it with others) -- but he still
managed to make my school life a series of headaches and embarrassments, and
puzzling, growing attraction, year after year.
I was almost compelled to dare him to go further. It's like we had an
unspoken agreement. He'd do something mean, I'd flip him off and call him
an asshole. And I imagined I could see in his eyes how much he liked the
attention he was giving me, too.
Through the years, Casey went for the ongoing, what's-going-to-happen-next
torture. He flushed my third-grade book reports down the toilet. He put
seventy dead flies in my bookbag in fourth. Even I was impressed by that
one. I mean, come on. You're pretty committed to someone when you've got
the energy to round up seventy dead flies.
And once in sixth, he stole my jock strap during gym class and pinned it up
to the bulletin board in the choir room. That one was a real crowd-pleaser,
since my mom, in her infinite wisdom, decided to sew my name inside the
waistband. To this day, I thank God there weren't any pee stains.
He did something else with my jock strap in sixth grade. One time in the
locker room, after gym class, after showers...he picked it up from the hook
inside my locker and pressed it to his face. He made a big show of smelling
it, and licking it and moaning "mmmmmm" in a loud, funny voice, that made
everybody laugh, and made me turn beet red in embarrassment. I grabbed it
away from him and called him an asshole while he just laughed and flicked a
towel at my bare ass. Humiliations were nothing new when Casey had his
flock of admirers around to impress.
And humiliated I was. Being studious and a good student, I occasionally
heard the whisper of "fag" or "fem" in the hallways. I didn't really think
much of it. Hell, everybody calls everybody those names. They don't really
mean anything.
But seeing Casey do his erotic little joke routine with my jockstrap was a
little over the line. Especially since everybody laughed, and the story
would make it from one end of the school to the other by the end of the day,
which it did.
So, outwardly, I had to pretend I was pissed at him. But secretly, I was
dazed.
I went home that night and jacked off furiously, replaying it my mind over
and over. Watching him rub my sweaty jock against his nose...watching him
breath in deeply, saying "mmmmmm"...watching his small tongue dart out,
licking the material. It affected me very, very strongly. It made me very
excited. It wouldn't be the first time I masturbated, thinking back to that
locker room scene.
I don't think I'm gay. I don't even worry about it really. I mean, you'll
never catch me at the beach, checking out guys asses and stuff. It's only
Casey, for some reason. When he's around...I get nervous. Sometimes I just
feel...different.
So, basically, that's the way it's been with me and Casey since our earliest
days. He pulls his annoying little jokes on me and when I don't have the
energy to think of a good insult, I roll my eyes and try to ignore him, the
whole time, trying to hide how excited he makes me feel...how even BAD
attention from him is GOOD attention.
So, here we are at the end of eighth grade -- Casey and I are both a
seasoned 14 -- old pros at the ongoing humiliation routine -- he's the
humiliator and I'm the humiliatee. And actually, It's not too bad anymore,
since now he's older and moving on to more adult pursuits, like impregnating
his female relatives and robbing banks and whatever.
(That's a joke. As far as I know, nobody's pregnant yet. The banks,
however, I keep waiting for).
So, he doesn't really have too much time in his torture schedule to give me
the full, daily treatment anymore. However, once or twice a month, he'll
still let one fly, just to keep his skills in shape. So far this year, he's
turned my neck green with spray paint (two detentions)...set fire to my
algebra book (three detentions)...and crapped in my lunch bag (unreported).
So, with all this rich history behind us, you can imagine the look of horror
on my face when Mrs. Kelly, our beloved mountain goat lookalike, assigned
the two of us to work together on the final semester science
project...building some stupid doorbell with wires and a big, chunky
flashlight battery.
She caught Casey blowing spit wads at me a few times earlier in the year,
and noticed I often returned his eager affections by flipping him a big
juicy bird or two, so ever since then, she's been determined to pair us up
as often as possible, figuring the more time we spend with our desks pushed
together, the more we'll end up loving each other and respecting each
others' feelings. She's a regular fuckin Madeline Albright, that woman.
So, after the assignments were handed out and the class bell rang, I took my
deepest breath, tried not to show my nervousness and approached Casey at the
back of the room, where his desk was almost universally placed, no matter
what classroom he was sitting in.
He smelled like he always smelled. Like a mixture of cigarettes and Speed
Stick deodorant. I sort of liked that smell.
"Congratulations," I said to him. "We're homework buddies."
"Can't wait," he said dryly. "You're such fun to hang around with."
"Let's just get it over with," I said, feeling my heart pounding faster,
just standing near him like this. I hoped he couldn't see me breaking a
sweat. I didn't know why he always made me feel this way. All disorganized
and fluttery.
I cleared my throat and tried to act normal. "I'll get the supplies at
Radio Shack, you come over to my house at five, we'll be done by seven. You
can be back in time for lights-out at the penitentiary."
His eyes widened in mock pleasure. He licked his lips slowly. I tried to
act like that didn't excite me either.
"Why Brian, is this a date?" he cooed. "Oh, my. You know how much I've
always wanted to date you."
"Yeah, I'm sure." I drolled, my heart pounding madly in my chest. I nodded
toward Mrs. Kelly, who was busy shuffling papers around her desk. "If we
date long enough, Goat Woman can sing at the wedding."
He laughed. "Good one, butt munch."
My heart soared, hearing him compliment me.
"Okay," he grinned, heading out the door. "See you at five."
I was instantly horrified. What had I done?
Casey Renning was coming over to my house. The thorn in my side. The
object of my secret jack-off sessions for the past three years.
And in four more hours he'd be in my bedroom.
Gulp.
What in God's name had I done?
_________________________________________________
The other problem with living in a small town is, everybody knows where you
live.
Nervous as hell, I hoped ridiculously that maybe Casey would get lost on the
way over, or not be able to find me in the phone book, or I don't know --
take a wrong fucking turn at Albuquerque like Bugs Bunny used to. I already
had the electronics and the battery. I could do the project myself if I had
to. It wasn't like I needed Casey's gigantic storehouse of scientific
knowledge to help me pass.
Besides, I'll be honest. I was scared. Ever since the jock strap incident,
everything between us was electric. Oh sure, the insults and the practical
jokes and the torture went on like nothing had changed, but underneath it
all, there was some kind of playfulness in the teasing.
That thing he did where he licked his lips at me? He did it a lot this
year. I usually blushed and looked away. But he kept on doing it. And he
knew it made me nervous.
So, sitting there on the couch, freshly showered and changed, trying to look
casual, even though I felt so nervous the hair on my head was actually
starting to hurt, I hoped beyond hope that maybe he'd get lost on the way
over.
But nope. No such luck. He showed up right on time.
In a town of 4,000, everybody knows where everybody's house is. We don't
even need those maps at the wayside with the big red arrows that say "you
are here." We already are.
"Hey, big boy," he said, licking his lips at me again as I opened the door.
"Your loving man is here, ready to give you some sweet lovin."
Oh God. Why did he have to start out with a line like that one? This was
going to be a very, very difficult science project.
"Come in," I said, as normally as I could, nodding out toward the street.
"The cops are probably looking for you."
He grinned. The feeling was electric. For a minute I imagined he was
looking at my legs...the outline of my crotch through my sweats. He was
used to seeing me in jeans and gym shorts. I don't think he'd ever seen me
in sweats before. It must have been my imagination. He recovered quickly.
"So...where is everybody," he said cautiously, peering around the empty
living room.
I was drinking a Coke, trying not to let my hand shake. The TV was on.
"Jeopardy" was ending.
"Gone with the wind," I replied, taking his jacket and tossing it on the
couch.
Mom worked the late shift. My sister was with Dad for dinner. Visitation
Day in the Merry Old Kingdom of Divorce.
"Cool," he said, looking around the room, probably wondering what he could
steal.
"You want a Coke?" I offered. I looked at his neck. I couldn't take my
eyes off the tendons in his neck. Snap out of it, Brian. I was NOT
handling this well at all.
"Sure," he said. "A coke would be great. Thanks."
That was a new one. "Thanks." No, "thanks, ass face" or "thanks, butt
wad." Without his crowd of admirers to impress, Casey was downright normal.
Almost polite. Maybe this wouldn't be so difficult after all. I got him a
Coke before he could change his mind and ax murder the dog.
"It's up in my room," I said, referring to the science project. "Come on."
We wandered up the stairs, me first, Casey following.
"Shake it, Barrett," he said, giving my ass a quick pat from behind.
"That's a fine piece of candy you got there, baby doll."
I blushed. Tingled almost everywhere. "Shut up. Just come in and close
the door."
I had the stuff laid out on my desk. I tried to ignore the electricity of
his presence. Not easy, because he kept looking me over with the strangest
look in his face. Whatever I was feeling, I think he was feeling it too.
I went right to work, following Goat Woman's science diagram, wanting to get
this over as soon as possible. He was distracting me. He was making me
feel things. The blood in my veins felt ten times hotter.
Still looking at me strangely, Casey wandered over to my bookshelf and
started looking around at anything but the homework.
"You read too much," he said disgustedly.
I looked at him, but turned away quickly. He did that thing with his tongue
and lips again. "Gonna read me a story, Brian?"
"Nothing wrong with books," I answered casually. "That's why I have
vocabulary and you have guttural grunts."
He turned and smiled at me, his eyes sparkling with good humor.
"You know, Barrett," he said mischievously, "you're pretty funny when you're
not at school being a kiss-ass."
"Whatever," I said dryly. "You gonna help me or not."
Again, he looked me over. A long look this time. I felt my neck growing
hot and sweaty. I think he noticed it, too.
He looked at the wires and tools on my desk and yawned. "My dick itches,"
he said simply.
Oh God. I almost died.
Trying not to take a deep breath out loud -- trying not to let the slightest
hint of reaction show in my voice, I kept my eyes firmly on the project in
front of me.
"Scratch it," I answered. "Monkeys know how. I'm sure you can figure it
out."
I can't believe I said it. But I could tell he liked it. He cleared his
throat until I looked at him.
Slowly, he reached a hand down his pants and adjusted his dick. He did it
very, very slowly, watching me the whole time.
"Ahhh..." he sighed. "That's better."
His hand stayed down in his pants.
"So, Barrett," he casually. "You got any mags?"
"Any what?" I asked him.
"Mags...books...jack-off material."
I swallowed hard. The tension in the air was so thick, I could smell it.
"Are you serious?" I laughed nervously. "We're supposed to be doing a
science project."
"Science can wait," he said. "Let's jack off a little, huh?"
There was just the slightest hint of hesitation in his voice...like he
really wasn't sure if he should have said that or not. I didn't give him
any clue from my end. Just sat there, staring at him blankly, trying not to
blush.
"You mean you don't even jack off?" he asked, amazed. "God, you really are
a study tool."
I shot him a look.
"Of course I jack off," I said meekly. "I just don't usually do it with
other guys."
He put his hand back down his pants and started rubbing his groin.
"Man, I'm horny," he said, completely ignoring my last comment. "I could
jack off right now. Sure you don't have anything I can look at?"
I stared at him, not believing he was standing here, stroking his own dick
under his pants. My heart felt like it was about to explode out of my rib
cage.
"Knock it off," I said weakly...secretly hoping he wouldn't knock it off at
all. I definitely wanted to see him do it. I felt a flush go up the back
of my neck. I tried to act like it was no big deal. Like I wasn't watching
him.
"Oh yeah," he said in a low voice, continuing to rub himself under his
jeans. "I'm half tempted to take it out and show it to you, Barrett."
I didn't say a word. Swallowed hard. Felt my heart pound.
"Maybe you'd like that, huh, Brian baby? Maybe I should take my big hot
dick out and let you watch me shoot my cum, huh?"
I blushed hotly. I felt sick and nervous. Under the desk, my own dick was
starting to throb, growing uncomfortably larger in my sweats. I hoped I
wouldn't have to stand up, because I was sure he would have noticed it.
"Oh yeah," he continued to moan softly. "I think I'm gonna do it right now.
Wanna watch me, Barrett? Wanna see my hot, sweet cock?"
I gulped. Still didn't say anything. I was afraid to tell him that, yes,
secretly, I really did want to watch him stroke his cock. I'd gone my whole
life being the object of Casey's teasing, so this was nothing new. It was
just a different kind of teasing, that's all. And I wanted to see it. I
wanted to see it, bad.
Looking me right in the eye, he slowly unsnapped his jeans, then lowered the
zipper down. Pulling his pants and underwear out of the way slightly, he
brought out the most gorgeous, five-inch erection I'd ever seen. (Not that
I'd seen a lot of erections, of course. I mean, apart from my own, this
would be numero uno). He continued to look me in the eye and began to
stroke himself slowly, enjoying my discomfort.
Inside my sweats, my own dick was now rock hard.
"Let's see what you've got, Barrett," he said, nodding down toward my
crotch, still safely tucked under the desk, out of sight.
"Yeah, right," I laughed nervously, trying to sound brave.
"I bet you're all hard under there, aren't you?"
No answer from me.
"Come on, Barrett...you like me, don't you? You've always liked me. You'd
like watching me rub my pretty cock for you. Come on, Brian. Don't be a
baby. Take it out. Play with it for me. I wanna see yours, too."
I sat there for a second, not sure of what I should do. For a second, I
considered chickening out. I knew once I did it, there was no turning back.
For a flash second, I thought about telling him to get the hell out of my
room. But in the end, my hard dick won the battle of common sense, and
before I knew what I was doing, I was sliding my chair back, lowering my
sweats, and taking out my own five-inch erection, blushing hotly, starting
to sweat deeply from my forehead as he stared at it.
"That's more like it," he whispered hoarsely. "Now stroke it for me, Brian.
Rub your hot little cock up and down. Let me see you shoot your sweet cum."
Hypnotized by the impossibility of the whole situation, I did what he told
me. Stretching my legs out, I started stroking my shaft, slowly up and
down, the whole time still watching him, looking at his own gorgeous prick.
I was mesmerized by it. It was the same size as mine, but it was absolutely
the most fascinating thing I'd ever seen.
"You want me to suck it for you, don't you, Brian? You want me to suck that
sweet little dick of yours?"
He spit on his hand and began stroking his dick in earnest, the tendons in
his arm standing out as he increased his grip on his own slippery cock.
I was too embarrassed to answer him. I just sat there, continuing to stroke
my dick, closing my eyes, trying not to think of him looking at me. God, I
was hard. I wanted to say something..give him permission...anything...but I
was just frozen in fear.
I had my eyes closed for maybe five, six seconds, when suddenly I felt his
hot mouth close around the tip of my cock.
I gasped. Jumped in my chair.
I hadn't even heard him move, but I looked down and there he was...his head
bobbing up and down on my shaft, licking the thick mushroom tip, his tongue
caressing the piss-slit, making me moan involuntarily at what he was doing.
"Oh God, Casey," I whispered. "Oh my God."
"Let's get on the floor, Brian," he whispered softly, between mouthfuls of
cock. "Then you can suck mine too, okay?"
I was so hard, I'd do anything. I would have done this since sixth grade.
Since I saw him do that thing with my jock strap. I'd jacked off a hundred
times imagining this moment. And now it was happening.
We dropped to the floor and stretched out longways, head to toe. Gone was
any idea of modesty. He pulled my sweats down to offer himself a better
view of my naked groin and legs. I tugged at his jeans and underwear,
further freeing his beautiful cock -- only five inches, but rock hard -- and
from my position on the floor, my mouth an inch away from it -- looking
monstrously big. I didn't know if I could take it all.
"Suck it, Brian." he whispered, as my tongue darted out shyly, exploring the
thick pink knob. "You know what to do. Eat my big dick. I know you want
to."
His dirty words excited me even further. I took his cock in my mouth and
coated it with spit. It felt amazing. It was rock hard and hot. I loved
the way it felt, pulsing in my mouth, slipping down further into my throat.
I made gagging sounds until I got used to the length, the taste, the feel.
And then, I couldn't stop. I teased him with my tongue. Cupped his balls
in my hand. Enjoyed the smell of his sweaty pubic hair, brushing up against
my nose every time I went down on his thick, hot meat. I ate his dick with
passion. I could tell he loved it by the way he moaned.
I was close to cumming already. So was he. I knew neither one of us could
last much longer. We'd been building up to this moment for too many years.
Grabbing the back of his ass and forcing his cock deep into my throat, I
moaned and grunted and pushed forward into his mouth with everything I had,
feeling my whole body shudder as I erupted deep within his throat, shooting
jet after jet of hot, sticky goo deep into his mouth.
"Ahhhhrggggh," he cried out, grabbing my head and doing the same.
I gagged as hot, thick ropes of liquid burst from his pulsating prick and
shot wildly into my aching mouth. It was so good. I wanted every drop.
"Oh, Brian," he shuddered. "Swallow it for me, baby. Swallow my hot, thick
cum!"
I had no objections. I gobbled down as much as I could -- some of his load
spilling out of my mouth, dripping down the corners and landing on the
carpet.
"Oh yeah," he moaned. "Oh yeah, Brian. Fucking excellent. Swallow it
all!"
We rolled back and looked at our handiwork. Two matching cum stains on the
carpet, where each of us had lost a few drops. Embarrassed and hurried, we
pulled up our pants, trying not to look at each other.
It was Casey who broke the silence.
"That was cool," he said, rubbing his dick through his jeans. "I've wanted
to do that with you since fourth grade, Brian."
I looked surprised. "Are you serious?" I asked. "I've wanted to do it
too."
"I know," he smiled. "I could tell for a long time now."
"Why are you always such an asshole to me then?"
"Hey," he winked. "You always hurt the one you love, Barrett. Didn't your
parents ever teach you anything."
"They never taught me anything like this before," I grinned, nodding down at
the cum stains.
"Well, maybe I'll have to teach you a few things myself then," he winked,
headed for the door.
"Hey!" I yelled, laughing. "What about the science project."
He gave me a look of complete boredom. "That's your department, Einstein.
You do the work. I'll share the "A"."
And with that, he opened the door and stepped out into the hall.
I almost felt hurt. After what we did, I sort of hoped he might stay.
But he caught me with a wide grin and made me feel a whole lot better when
he said, "But Brian -- if you want to start getting a real education after
school...come on over to my place tomorrow. I'll teach YOU a thing or two,
Study Boy."
He winked again and closed the door. He was gone.
I looked at the wires on my desk and the cum on my floor. Sighed. Adjusted
my dick in my pants. Grinned slightly and went back to work.
I didn't know if this was the start of a friendship or what...after all...he
was Casey Renning, and he was still a grade-A, number one jerk.
But I had a funny feeling he was absolutely right about my upcoming lessons.
The rest of eighth grade was going to be very, very educational.
_____________________________________________________
END
