I'd been forced to move to my grandfather's farm when my father died. My mother said we couldn't afford the house. There was no insurance, a long illness, after which we moved to the sticks. After living in Aurora, Colorado, a suburb of Denver, I found it difficult living out where the next house was two miles away. My grandfather took me and picked me up from school, and then there were chores to do both before I left and once I returned. I would earn my keep. "Everyone works on a farm."

I suppose I didn't appreciate it much. After a month they let me get hooked up to the Internet. My provider was Hooterville or something like that. You only got fifty hours a month and then it was ninety-five cents an hour added to the bill. That meant I had to be judicious. I would spend an hour a night in chat rooms, trying to ease my loneliness after the house went dark.

I suppose it was three months or so before I met Biff. He was from Lincoln and only a hundred miles away. He was my age and had some of the same interests. It took several more months before I told him the name of the town where I lived. I didn't think he'd recognize it or care.

"Do you know Mick & Mike Moran?" He shot back.

"I've seen them around school. No, I don't know them. How do you know them?"

"They have a grandfather that lives on the next block. I met them at a swimming hole. They told me about where they lived and how they couldn't wait to get back there. Maybe you should look them up. They seemed to know everything about that place. Might be able to help you find some things you like to do. Tell them I told you to look them up and let me know how it goes."

I didn't think much about it, but a few days later at school, Mick Moran sat down at my table during lunch.

"I'm Gordon Kelly," I said.

"Yeah," Mick said, filling his face with a sandwich and ignoring me.

I felt a little like a fool.

"Bobby Cane said he thought I should look you up because you'd know things about what I'd be wanting to do here," I said, feeling embarrassed for slowing this guy's food consumption and not knowing what to say to the guy.

"From Lincoln Cane?"

"Yeah, lives next to your granddaddy or something," I said.

Mick Moran got up and came and sat across from me as though he suddenly recognized me. Suddenly we were friends. He even offered me one of his sandwiches, and the way he ate, I knew that had to be difficult for him. I refused thinking he'd need it to make it through the day.

"Hey, Mike," Mick said, as his brother came roaming in.

"Yeah, squirt. What's up?"

"Bobby Cane told this guy to look us up. Said we'd know what he liked to do," Mick said enthusiastically.

"That little fag. You're better qualified then me," he said.

"Don't pay any attention to him. He likes everyone to think he's above it all because he turned eighteen. Come on. I got to piss. I'll show you a place you might want to use," Mick said, standing, stuffing the two remaining sandwiches into his sack. "Come on."

We cut through the middle of the school, going down the stairs toward the boiler room, turning to follow the steam pipes that heated the gym. The hall led to the double doors that led you up to the athletic fields. It was padlocked. Mick pushed on an old rusty unmarked door, after looking both ways before entering.

It was dank with the only light being furnished by a window way over our heads. It had a diagonal crack diagonal across the frosted glass. There was a booth with no door and two urinals on the wall in front of the booth. Mick dropped his nap sack, unzipped his pants, moving up to the urinal. I was standing behind him about five feet from the other urinals and at the corner of the booth.

"You got to piss or not. I didn't bring you all the way down here for my health," he said, looking back over his shoulder.

"Sure," I said, feeling self-conscious though I'd peed beside hundreds of guys.

This felt different to me as I listening for him to be peeing, but he wasn't. He just stood there and I really didn't need to pee, but I was always good for a few trickles, and I eased up to the urinal beside him.

"We don't have much time," he said, and I felt his fingers on my cock. "Come on. This isn't a one way street. Bobby always went right for it."

He took my wrist and placed my hand on what was a very hot and very thick cock. My own leaped up to match the hardness I felt in his. The work fag was like a neon sign inside my head. I squeezed, not daring to look at what it was I held. His hand was jacking me off as mine felt around on his. It was more pink than white. There were yellow hairs curling out of his zipper. I felt his cock jerk in my hand as he put his free hand on mine to encourage me to work it over.

"Look, we've only got a few more minutes. I'll do you first. If we don't have time for you to do mine, you'll owe me one," he said, kneeling down as he turned me away from the urinal, putting his lips over the head of mine as his hands held me in place.

It was warm and moist. It was soft. Not me, I couldn't get no harder than that. The way my cock brushed inside his mouth was like so soft. I'd never had any feeling like it. I suppose it was right exciting.

"Excuse me," I said, taking a gulp of air, "I think I might ..."

"Shit!" he said, pumping me as he turned his head. "Fuck man, warn a guy will ya. I don't eat no guy's spunk. I don't know you that well."

"Sorry," I gasped, and my juice ran down the side of his face as he kept pumping on me while feeling my ass.

"There. You're turn," he said, standing as I'm looking down at his.

It tasted weird. I mean it wasn't like I hadn't once or twice thought of it. Wondered what it was like and why a guy would do it to another guy. Hell, I wondered what jumping out of a plane was like too, but I didn't never go jumping out a one.

It was as hot in my mouth as it was in my hand. The head was a big old fat thing that stretched my jaws. It tasted, I don't know, like mushrooms or something. Hot mushrooms. It was all hard but the skin was soft on my lips. Thinking of doing it made me feel funny but I didn't want to stop.

"Teeth. Watch the teeth. You need some practice. Mike'll slug you. Don't bite him if you know what's good for you. He likes it gentle like. I don't care but don't draw no blood or nothin like that. That's it. Lick my head some. Use some suction, dude. Don't just leave it sit there."

He gave me instructions and I figured there was no graceful way to stop sucking a guys dick once you was sucking on it, so I just stayed there until he started acting like he was having a really good time. Just then the bells went off. Scared the pee living shit out of me it did. I stood straight up and his cock slapped against his zipper.

"Shit, man, I'm tight here. You owe me big time for putting that shit in my mouth. Where do you live? I'll bring Mike. He's fun once you get him warmed up. Just don't pay no attention to him bitching all the time. He does that so you think he don't like it. He'll come quick enough when I tell him you're okay. You have a barn or something?"

"Sure," I said, "Kincaid place. Noble Horse Road."

"Kincaid? We live on the farm behind you. It's the Powell place, but we work it. We'll come over after work tonight. Make an excuse to be out in the barn. Find a safe place for us to do it."

"Sure," I said, not knowing what else to say to a guy you'd just blown.

My dick stayed hard all afternoon. I kept on tasting that boys cock like it was still in my mouth.


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