Fear and Courage

Chapter 3-4

That afternoon, back in his own house, Jim rested naked in his bed in the unusual and continuing summer heat. He tossed aside a detective comic book before grabbing his sketchbook to draw Brian playing his guitar and wearing only teal briefs with a massive boner. The record hundred-degree temperatures made almost any activity unbearable, but he soon got hard. After setting aside the sketchbook, he grabbed his d**k and stared at the sketch of Brian.

He spit on his c**k to enhance his pleasure, rubbing the palm over the purple head. “Brian, you are so f*****g sexy. I want you to f**k me long, hard, and deep.” Someday he’d get the courage. Why in the hell didn’t he just tell Brian he was gay? Why in the hell did he pretend he was straight when he sucked Brian off?

His other hand fondled and squeezed his nuts until he spit on a finger and slipped it into his ass, wishing it was Brian’s c**k, but that would hurt since it was so f*****g big. Sweet succulent Brian, a small body and a big d**k that tasted wonderful and fit so well into Jim’s mouth. Did a black c**k taste different than a white one? Or an Asian one? Or a Mexican one?

Jim intensified the work on his d**k and stroked his finger in his ass, adding a second one. He needed to stretch it, knowing someday he’d get Brian to bend him over and f**k his virgin hole. He had trouble keeping a slow pace finger-f*****g himself while quickly fisting his d**k.

He haphazardly sucked breaths between occasionally holding his breath. Staring at his sketch, the boner in Brian’s briefs, Jim mumbled his friend’s name. He shot his wad on a pair of discarded briefs, his head shaking and his spine tingling as he blasted time after time. He slowed his actions, but kept stroking, teasing his sensitive cockhead, and clenching his jaw. Eventually, he wiped his fingers with tissues, then put on the c*m-stained briefs and rubbed the dampness into his skin. He threw on running shorts, then washed his hands in the bathroom.

Back in his room and getting naked again, his mind wandered as he stroked his sore cheek and hoped for a job that would let him move out. But at eighteen, how much could he earn, and would anyone rent to him?

The rumble of Mr. Truttle’s diesel truck-tractor drew him from the bed. Pulling on briefs and shorts, Jim slipped into flip-flops, then rushed out to see Brian hugging his dad on the sidewalk. Jim found it hard to believe that Mr. Truttle, a huge muscled man with dark skin and a short black afro, had fathered Brian, with his lighter skin and hair and an almost fem body.

Jim patiently waited until they broke apart. “Hey, Mr. Truttle, how long you gonna be gone this time?”

“One night and two days. Just a quick trip to Washington and back.”

Jim smirked and crossed his arms. “f**k, everyone knows it takes longer than that to get to D.C. and back from California.”

Mr. Truttle’s belly laugh made the boys grin. “Jim, maybe you should be a comedian, huh, but watch your language. I’m going to the state of Washington.” He touched Jim’s red and swollen cheek. “So what exactly happened yesterday?”

Jim gazed at the ground. “He just lost his s**t. Same ol’, same ol’.”

“He hit your mom?”

Jim shook his head.

“Someday I’m going to kick that man’s carcass all the way to hell.”

“I’ll move out someday. I don’t want you to get in trouble. You’ve been so good to me over the years.” He always felt awkward talking about his situation. Words never helped, never changed a thing, except to embarrass him for being a wimp. “You be safe.”

“Sure. You’re a good boy, Jim. Don’t let your stepfather get to you.”

Jim’s rare temper flared. Bile rose in his throat, and his head and neck heated. He wanted to hit something. “He’s not my stepfather! He just happened to marry my mother.”

Mr. Truttle yanked him into a hug. Jim found comfort in the embrace that immediately cooled his temper. But what would the man think if he knew that Brian and Jim had blown each other?

They pulled apart and Mr. Truttle put one hand on Brian’s shoulder and one on Jim’s. “You take care of each other, and keep yourselves out of trouble. You’re eighteen, so no more kid stuff.”

Jim gave Brain a playful punch. “Count on me, Mr. Truttle. I’ll kick his ass good if he f***s up.”

Brian punched back and smirked. “You can’t kick my ass!”

“I sure as f**k can.”

Mr. Truttle warned, “Jim, again, watch your language. A gentleman doesn’t have need for those words, and they don’t make you more of a man. You’re talking more like a trucker every day.”

“You’re a trucker.”

The man’s tone switched from jovial to serious. “When did you last hear me swear?”

Jim shrugged, and again, his neck and face heated. His gut gurgled.

“Just my opinion, and hell, I never graduated high school, but on the other hand, I think you know I’m right.” He tilted up Jim’s head so they could look at each other. “No shame in a man admitting he can do better.” He winked at Jim, then grabbed Brian into another hug. “I know I haven’t been the greatest father, but I’ve done the best I know how after your mom left. Work hard if you get that new job, and do what they tell you, but that don’t mean you have to take crap no matter how it’s served up. Never lose your temper. It clouds intelligent thought.” He patted Brian’s fluffy afro. “You might have to trim this.”

Brian moaned. He buried his head into his father’s chest. “I love you, Dad. It’s okay if Jim sleeps over, right?”

“Of course, nothing changes. I’ll call when I can.” He handed Jim a key. “Just in case you need to get in the house when Brian or I are gone.” He jumped in his rig and pulled away from the curb as the sun beat down. He soon turned the corner, heading for the freeway.

Jim draped an arm over Brian’s shoulders, the hundred-degree weather baking them. “He’ll be okay, you know that, right?”

Brian nodded. “I guess so. I know he’s disappointed because I’m not like him, but he never shows it.” His jaw trembled.

Jim looked away so he wouldn’t see his bud get all teary.

Brian pulled himself together. “You sleeping over? I’ll make us a sandwich.”

Considering Brian’s love of cooking, Jim expected a hell of a lot more than an ordinary sandwich, and Brian hated being alone. It worked out well, giving Jim an excuse to avoid the f*****g asshole his mom had married. He winced at the mental swear word and gave Brian a boyish shove. “Sure, I’ll be over in a little while. I want to shower so I don’t stink you out of your house, and I have to take out the garbage cans to keep George happy.”

Brian shoved him back. “Yeah, you’d better shower. You smell like a pig’s asshole, and I bet you’ll jack yourself in the shower while you think of me. I know you do that all the time.”

“And you know what the asshole of a pig smells like, huh? Pervert. Have you licked or f****d one?”

Brian flipped him off. “You’re the one who’s stared at me in the locker room and shower. But don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. And you didn’t deny jacking and thinking about me.”

“You sleep with me. What does that make you?”

“Sleeping is not the same as screwing.” Brian smirked. “Except when you’re in the bed with me, and you jack off thinking I’m asleep. You have for a while. I bet you come in your briefs and sleep in them wet.” Brian made eye contact. “I’m glad I sucked you off last night—and this morning.”

Jim changed the subject to make his d**k deflate. When would he have the guts to continue the conversation about s*x? “I’ll come over before it gets dark.”

Brian nodded.