Skater Boys

by Neil Plakcy

  “Yeah,” he said, grinning at me and scrubbing his knuckles across the top of my head, not hard enough to hurt. “It’d be totally choice, hoonie.”

  “Cool,” I said, and let go of him so I could stand up. I looked around and realized that I was missing something. I started toward the door. “Fuck, I left my bag downstairs. Be right back.”

  “It’s okay. I’ve got stuff. Top drawer of my dresser, there.”

  “Awesome,” I said, and found what I was looking for. I turned back to the bed and discovered that he was already in the process of making himself comfortable. “Can I help?”

  “Nah,” he said, settling down against his pillows with a huff. “That’s got it. C’mon, dude.”

  I climbed into bed and knelt between his outspread thighs; it took me a second to get the lube open—it was brand new, still sealed—then I asked, “You want one or two to start?”

  “Gimme two,” Levi said.

  “Sure,” I said, and did. By the time he was ready for me, we were both stupidly hard and practically dripping.

  “Will,” he said. “God, Will, I will seriously spit the dummy if you don’t—”

  “Just a fucking second,” I said, patting frantically for—there. Lube and stroke, stroke, stroke over the condom and then I had him open and I was right there. I pushed my hips forward and I was in, just the head of my cock but that was okay. “Good?”

  “Fuck, yes,” Levi said. His eyes were closed and there was a funny look on his face.

  “Are you sure?” I asked. “You look like—”

  “Will!” He opened his eyes and glared at me.

  I slid a little deeper. “Okay. Tell me if you think I’m breaking you further, okay?”

  Levi laughed at that. “Awright, hoonie,” he said, then made this mewling squeak that went straight to my cock as I hit his prostate.

  “Was that a good sound or a bad sound?”

  “Was a ‘stop yappin’ an’ fuck me’ sound.”

  “Right,” I said, and gave him what he was asking for. I tried so hard at first to be slow and careful, but he just kept making those needy little noises; he was so hot and close around me that I didn’t really want to, anyhow. I thrust into him, hard and steady, and all too soon I felt my balls drawing up.

  “Will,” Levi said, and his voice was ragged. I opened my eyes and ran them from the pained pleasure on his face over his body down to where his hand was jerking himself, and for some reason that was the last push, the last straw. My orgasm slammed into me; I slid home one last time and grunted, inarticulate in ecstasy.

  I took a second and gathered my wits, then dropped a hand over his. “C’mon, Levi,” I said. He gave another of those squeaks that made me wish I could fuck him all over again; two strokes later he came all over his chest.

  “Bloody fuckin’ hell,” Levi said, “that hurt.” He grinned at me and heaved a careful sigh. “So fuckin’ worth it, though.”

  “Sorry?” I said, pulling away from him. “Yeah?”

  “Totally, utterly choice, Will,” he said, closing his eyes and yawning. “’M gonna crash like now. Sorry.”

  “It’s cool.” I got us cleaned up, then settled in beside him. I closed my eyes and was out like a light.

  Light. It was light. I was a little too warm, and it was light. I blinked. Hazel eyes blinked back at me. Hey, Levi was looking at me, from like eight inches away. Cool.

  “Hey, hoonie,” he said, grinning at me.

  “Hey,” I said. Oh, hell yes, last night had really actually totally happened. I kept my glee to myself, though. Mostly, anyway, since I was grinning right back.

  “You’re in my bed. Naked,” he said.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Izzat a problem?”

  “Nah,” Levi said, then leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “Just making sure.”

  “Okay, cool.”

  “And ’cause I didn’t wanna ask a hallucination for a favor,” he said.

  “Whattya need?” I asked, figuring it’d be something like a good-morning blow job. I was totally down with that; Levi could return the favor and that would be the best start to my day in the history of my entire life.

  “Can you go get my pills and something to drink? My arm’s fuckin’ killing me.”

  …Or not. It was cool, though. I nodded and kissed him on the end of the nose, because I could. “Yeah, no problem,” I said, and got out of bed.

  “Don’t take forever,” Levi said, shifting onto his back. “Your side of the bed’ll get cold.”

  “Right,” I said, suddenly pretty sure that I’d gotten more than just laid last night. I kinda couldn’t believe it. I found my shorts, pulled them on, then leaned against the footboard. “You want anything in particular to drink?” I asked.

  “Heh, you’ve got bed-head,” Levi said, trying to stretch without moving anything that hurt. His face pinched in pain and he shook his head. “Nah. Whatever you find’ll be great. Did we eat all of the pizza last night?”

  I ran my hand through my hair, knowing that it’d just make it worse. Levi’s hair was sticking up in all directions, too, which for some reason only made him look cuter. “I’m not the only one, dude,” I said. “All right. Yeah, I’m pretty sure we did. I’ll check, though. What’s your second choice?”

  “Like eight slices of toast with that brown sugar, butter and cinnamon stuff mum mixes up on ’em,” he said. “Pleeeeease, Will?” He was actually fluttering his lashes at me, god.

  I laughed. “Okay,” I said, “But you have to keep things warm up here. Cool?”

  Levi smiled and nodded at me. “Choice! No worries, dude.”

  “No,” I said, smiling over my shoulder as I left. “None at all.”

  DADDY JENS

  G. R. Richards

  The little bastards didn’t even ring the doorbell. They just walked right in like they owned the fucking place. Maybe it was Jens’s own fault for leaving the door unlocked, but his son Soren never seemed to remember his key. Jens tried to ignore the ruckus, but when eight little wheels rolled across the kitchen floor overhead, that was the last straw.

  Setting down his weights, Jens wiped his bare chest before tossing the towel on the padded bench. He’d never trusted Cooper and Logan. The day Soren first brought them home after school in tenth grade, Jens went out and bought a wall safe. Four years later, Cooper and Logan were still a pair of social rejects dragging his son into the gutter, and Jens trusted them even less. They’d probably come over to steal his new TV.

  When Jens set foot on the bottom step of the basement staircase, the door at the top swung open. The little punks’ lanky figures loomed like elongated shadows. For a split second, their mischievous grins were replaced by the shamefaced expressions of children caught smoking in the boys’ room. They obviously weren’t expecting Jens to be home. Their thick-lashed eyes grew wide, but they recovered quickly.

  “Hey, Daddy Jens,” one of them laughed.

  Jens had never looked at either closely enough to know who was Cooper and who was Logan and now that he observed them one by one, he didn’t find many distinguishing features. Both wore short sleeves over long sleeves, torn and baggy denim shorts, and those same ridiculously wide shoes Soren insisted on buying. With their similarly light hair and dark roots they could almost be twins—except one was more upright, one a little more slouched; one had an unobtrusive little nose, the other’s was birdlike.

  “My son isn’t home,” Jens said. He was long past the point of hiding the irritation in his voice. Why did Soren hang around with such idiots?

  Lacking any capacity to comprehend subtlety, the boys didn’t leave. Instead, they thumped down the wooden stairs in their thick-soled shoes. Jens held off resuming their discussion until they were on equal footing—literally—on the same floor of the house. He could hardly instruct them to leave if they were looming high above him. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, he felt more at ease barking instructions. They were roughly his height, but his bare muscled
arms and chest gave him great confidence. “Soren has classes at the university all day.”

  “Poor Sore,” replied the one in the filthy white T-shirt with an evil-looking koi fish silk-screened across the front. When he shook his narrow head, his hair flopped about. “Wasting away in a classroom.”

  Jens’s jaw locked in response to the smirks plastered across their pink lips. He had to be grateful their degeneracy hadn’t rubbed off too much on Soren. “At least my son has a future, unlike you layabouts. You have no jobs, no willpower. You lazy little assholes can’t even help out your poor mothers with expenses. What kind of sons are you?”

  The two boys looked at each other and cracked up. Their laughter mocked him deliberately. The one in the blue shirt—the one with the bird nose—said, “Hey, old man, say Ikea.” They were too stupid to come up with any real affront, and instead relied on making fun of his accent.

  “Fuck you,” Jens replied, more irritated than angry. These children didn’t respond to anger anyway. Nothing frightened them because they were still too young to have any true sense of mortality. “You come into my house and insult me? I should box your ears, you little punks.”

  In hysterics, the one in white sneered, “Did you hear that? He called us punks!”

  “Do we look like punks? We’re sk8ers, old man,” the other joined in. “That’s sk8ers with an eight.”

  “You’re idiots is what you are,” Jens replied, embarrassed to resort to childish name-calling.

  The boys obviously had no aversion to it, because the one shot back, “You’re gay is what you are.”

  Jens gritted his teeth until his enamel turned to chalk. “Yes, and isn’t that why you little cocksuckers spend so much time in my basement?”

  For a moment, they had no response. Their soft-skinned faces fell blank as they shot furtive looks at each other. Finally, when they seemed to realize they were taking too long to response, they spewed out stupid laughter. “Oh, yeah,” the one in blue cackled, leaning against the other to keep from falling over. “It has nothing to do with the kick-ass TV down here. We just want to eat your old-man balls.”

  Jens could see his expression reflected in the big black screen. He was a good-looking man for his age. Many agreed. He watched his face in the TV. His smirk seemed almost cruel, but these little punks deserved it. “Yes, I’ve seen you watch TV down here. You turn the damn thing on and then spend an hour with your eyes glued to the muscle god working out across the way.”

  The boys glanced at each other again. Their laughter seemed to grow more cautious. “A muscle god?” the one in white asked. His mannerisms reminded Jens of a young chimpanzee. His arms seemed to swing from his shoulders. “Who, you?”

  When they both swallowed hard, he knew he’d hit a nerve.

  “Right,” the one in blue said. He seemed more like a giraffe. “’Cause we’re just dying to blow some old guy’s shriveled-up dick.”

  He was really getting to them. “You want to see a shriveled old-guy dick?” Jens asked, almost without emotion. Why was he letting them sucker him into such a ridiculous argument? Was it because every accusation came a little bit closer to the truth? Either way, he couldn’t seem to stop himself from dropping his workout shorts to his feet and kicking them across the room.

  The boys stared down at Jens’s cock, and he placed his fists on his hips like a carnival strongman. His toned and tanned body turned heads everywhere he went. Why wouldn’t they want him? “From your silence, I gather you weren’t anticipating anything so massive,” he began. Their mouths hung open, but they made no response. “Perhaps you are both so quiet because you’re having second thoughts about swallowing my cock. You’re thinking to yourselves, It’s far too big. I’ll choke if that monster comes anywhere near my mouth.”

  The boy in the white top froze while his friend collapsed against the arm of the leather sofa. If they weren’t planning on leaving, the least they could do was get him off, Jens thought. He wouldn’t normally go for his son’s ingrate friends, but if they hadn’t run away yet, they would obviously go for him.

  “And it’s true,” Jens went on. “If I fucked your throats, you would gag until you hurled.” The boys said nothing, only stared up at him. Their eyes were shining and huge. They both seemed far smaller than they had when they loomed over him on the stairs. “But you are young, so I’ll have mercy on you. Rather than shoving my cock so far down your necks you have to breathe out of your filthy noses, I’ll let one of you work the tip while the other licks my shaft. Who prefers the taste of precum?”

  Despite the stunned looks on their faces, they wasted no time in pointing at each other. “He does.” Each turned to the other and said, “Fuck you, man.”

  Jens rolled his eyes. “Fuck you both. What was I thinking? You’re a couple of insolent children, that’s what you are.”

  As he turned to head back to his weight room, one of the boys cried, “Hold up, old man.” Jens spun on his heels but said nothing. The blue boy went on, “You think we’re afraid of your dick? I’m not. I could deep-throat that motherfucker.”

  The boy’s outburst seemed fragile and easily repealed. These friends of Soren’s acted tough, but when push came to shove they’d certainly go belly-up. Chuckling to himself, Jens took his soft meat in his palm. He ran his hand along the monster from base to tip. Like a magician’s wand, it went from soft to rock solid in an instant. “See? That’s what happens when you get it angry. You still think you could deep-throat that motherfucker? Or are you just one more little punk whose eyes are bigger than his mouth?”

  Blue boy leaned back, apparently forgetting he was sitting on an armrest, and fell to the couch with his ass sky high. The sk8er in the white top laughed, but it was Jens who said, “Ah, I think your friend is presenting. He is so anxious to get his tight little pussy hole fucked, he is sticking his ass in my face.”

  Retrieving his shallow sense of humor, the boy on the couch shot back, “Yeah, you’d like to shove your face in my ass, wouldn’t you, old man?”

  Jens replied with a smirk. He wasted no time in turning to the boy in white. “Which one are you, Cooper or Logan?”

  “Umm…Cooper?” he began, with that rising intonation characteristic of his generation. The boy’s brow rose slightly. He seemed almost hurt. “Dude, I’ve been friends with Soren for like four years.”

  The other boy—Logan—leaned back on his elbows with his pink lips ajar. Were they awaiting instruction? It seemed, in some strange way, the boys looked up to him. Ridiculous! With a shrug, he replied, “Until this moment, you’ve not been worth knowing. Now please make yourself useful and remove your boyfriend’s ridiculous shorts.”

  Jens would introduce them to a new brand of denigration. They thought they were hotshots, hassling pedestrians on their stupid skateboards. He would never allow himself to feel dominated by a pair of postadolescent assholes. Jens would take their immature longings and make them feel three inches tall. These children needed to be taken down a notch, and he knew how to make a boy feel like a dirty, skanky little whore.

  When Jens returned from his bathroom, Logan’s shorts were strewn across the coffee table. His stupid shoes were still on his feet. “Dude, are you seriously going to let Soren’s dad fuck your ass?” Cooper asked him before spinning around to catch the smile on Jens’s lips—and notice the condoms, lube and scissors in his hands.

  Logan’s cock stood at attention, straight up like the needle on a sundial. Jens gazed at it with a sense of sunny pleasure, as though it were a carnival ride. “There’s something very refreshing about you young people and your uncut cocks,” he mused as Logan pulled slowly on his arrow-straight rod.

  With a gasp that was almost a shriek, Cooper looked at the scissors as they glinted in the low light straining in from the weight room. “Dude, what the fuck? When did Soren’s basement become ye olde circumcision shoppe?”

  Logan looked up with alarm as Jens glanced down into his hands and laughed. “You boys really are ridi
culous.” Tossing most of the condoms and lube on the table behind the couch, he opened one packet and sliced the condom clean through the middle. To the panic-stricken Cooper, he said, “Your friend expressed some interest in having his ass eaten. Do you think I would get anywhere near that putrid shithole without protection?” He felt ten times stronger as he degraded the boy.

  And still the idiots teased him. Cooper chuckled like an idiot as he fell into the matching leather chair. “Putrid shithole,” he repeated, mocking Jens’s accent. “Logan, Soren’s dad is going to lick your putrid shithole.”

  “I know,” Logan said, gasping as Jens set the latex in his crack. He urged his ass up toward Jens, throwing one foot in a thick-soled shoe across the back of the couch. That low light flickered in his keen gaze. “Maybe if you’re a good little sk8er boy, he’ll do you next.”

  Logan was coming along nicely, but it seemed he’d have to be a little harder on Cooper. Shaking his head, Jens interrupted, “Maybe if you little punks don’t keep your mouths shut, you’ll have to do each other.”

  But who was he kidding? He couldn’t resist Logan’s baby-soft ass. Jens sunk to ass-level, ignoring the boy in the black leather chair who giggled like a mocking little chimp bastard. “He called us punks again.”

  As Jens planted his face between firm white cheeks, Logan hissed, “Shut up! If I don’t get rimmed by this geezer I’m going to fucking break your board.”

  Jens inhaled sharply at the classification. Any little hipster punk sk8er—or whatever these kids called themselves—should consider himself lucky to get serviced by a vintage muscle god. But these kids thought they were above the gods. Jens gritted his teeth. It was his turn to degrade the bottom. Though it was utter bullshit, he said, “Pew! Do you nasty children never clean yourselves? When was the last time you took a shower?”

  Logan was hurt. Jens could see it in his tender eyes. But he recovered quickly. “Ten years ago,” he shot back. “I remember because it was the same day you last got laid.”