A gay adult story: BRIAN & THE BAD BOY by David Lemmaire
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.