BULLIES AND VICTIMS
Bob Wingate
One night around midnight shortly after my tenth birthday my mom shook me awake, put a finger over her lips, wrapped me in my bathrobe, helped me put on my socks and sneakers and ran away with me from the strict religious community we’d been living in with my ultra religious dad. We ran up the long dirt road that led to the highway, my terrified mom sobbing all the way. Running at night through the woods with her is one of my scariest memories, I had nightmares about it for years. We ran for what seemed like hours to where my grandfather was waiting to drive us to civilization, leaving behind my dad and the only home I’d known.
My grandfather was well off and set Mom up in a house in the progressive community of Tilden, Massachusetts, which was basically a suburb of Chatsworth. Tilden was about twenty-five miles northwest of Boston and just minutes from Chatsworth Hospital, where Mom, a nurse practitioner, got a job. That’s where I met Brad Clay, whose family owned the great house that loomed over ours, which had originally been a gardener’s cottage. Brad was two months younger than me to the day and my best friend for the next seven years.
As a little kid, I’d been told over and over again that as we travel through life we must come face to face with our demons. Little did I know at the tender age of ten that my new best friend would be the worst of mine.
Brad Clay was everything I’d have liked to be: big, strong, good-looking, outgoing, a great athlete. A lot of the time, especially when grown-ups weren’t present, he could also be everything I’d been warned to stay away from: foul-mouthed, selfish, sneaky, quick to pick a fight and a dirty fighter. For me that just made him dangerous and exciting to be with. He bullied me, but he also protected me from bullies. I wore thick glasses and was a dweeby-looking, shy, puny, buck-toothed, pimply kid with a face even a mother would have trouble loving, as some kids once told me tauntingly when Brad wasn’t there to go after them. I’d never had a friend, and for someone like Brad to take me under his wing the way he did was something I knew I’d be grateful for all my life. I could put up with his bullying if I had to, and I did, a lot more than most boys would. Not that I had a lot of choice. He lived right next door, always knew where to find me, could beat me up and make me afraid to tell, and my mom, who was on friendly terms with his parents, was crazy about him. He was always polite and respectful with her, and had perfect table manners. Besides, no one with that open face and beautiful smile could be anything but pure at heart, Mom said. And the truth was, few adults except maybe Brad’s parents ever caught him doing anything a choirboy would be ashamed to be seen doing in church.
Back in my dad’s religious community I’d been a scared little kid who’d never been encouraged to do anything athletic, but with Brad pushing me I became a pretty good athlete, especially when it came to solitary sports like swimming and running. In high school I went out for track and even won some medals. Brad preferred team sports: he played catcher on the baseball team, made varsity in both football and wrestling and was slated to become captain of both teams when we entered senior year. We were always very active together. On weekends when the weather was nice and there was no practice we played some tennis, though we weren’t great tennis players, and sometimes we’d go for a run together. That was special fun for me, since running was the one thing I was better at than him. Also, from the earliest days of our friendship we wrestled a lot. Our wrestling matches almost always started with Brad jumping me and announcing it was wrestling time. He knew I hated wrestling with him, but he loved making me do it. Of course I always lost. Even if we’d been in the same weight class I’d have lost, I was never any match for him. But it wasn’t the wrestling that he liked so much, it was what happened when the fight was over, what Brad dubbed The Penalty Game. Once he had me pinned, he wouldn’t let me up until I agreed to pay a penalty, which meant I had to give him something I had that he wanted, do a service for him or, if he couldn’t think of anything in particular he wanted me to do (and he almost always could), accept a punishment like a hard punch.
When we were little kids, it was usually one of my toys he demanded, though he had more toys than any kid on earth: he’d insist on a power ranger he knew I really liked, or a valued baseball card. But as we got older it became more of a service I had to perform for him, like carrying his backpack to school the next day, giving him a back rub, doing his chores around the house, shining his shoes, cleaning his bedroom while he lay on the bed, head propped on the pillows, watching me, making sure I did a good job. “Hey dude, don’t forget the dust bunnies under the bed.”
(Some of the things he made me do by the time we were sixteen and seventeen were downright humiliating, like kissing his sneakers, or giving him a foot massage, or even, once, cutting his toenails. Brad really got off on me working on his feet, and was always pushing them in my face, telling me to kiss or lick them. They sometimes had a real sweaty foot smell which the truth is I kind of liked, but I couldn’t let him know that so I turned my head away and made retching sounds.)
For about a year, starting when Brad and I were thirteen, we jerked each other off. He himself had been taught how to do it by his cousin Danny, and he taught me. It was all pretty innocent: we held each other’s cocks at arm’s length and pumped away, betting on which one of us would shoot first.
We continued jerking each other off pretty much once a week, sometimes twice, until we were almost fifteen and started going out with girls. We usually did it on weekends, when we slept over at Brad’s house or mine. We’d been sleeping over at each other’s houses since we were ten, and continued doing it through high school, weekend evenings when we didn’t have dates. It was such a common thing for us to do that neither Brad’s parents nor my mom were ever surprised when they looked in our bedrooms and found our beds empty, or found both of us sleeping in his bedroom or mine. In any case, by the time we reached fifteen the jerking off had stopped, and we both got shy about even seeing each other naked.
For most of my high school career, no girl would have known I existed if I hadn’t basked a little in the glow from Brad’s flame. The girls all loved him, and because of our friendship I got the benefit of some of his cast-offs, real pretty girls who only went out with me because they knew how close he and I were and hoped that proximity might get them back in his good graces. But with the exception of his junior-year girlfriend Shannon Stearn, whose total refusal to give him head made him stubbornly go back to her over and over to try and convince her to change her mind, once Brad dumped a girl she stayed dumped. So none of his ex-girlfriends went out with me more than twice.
We were seventeen the summer between our junior and senior years when my serious problems with Brad began. At the beginning of that summer for the first time in my life I was really feeling pretty good about myself. I’d stopped dwelling all the time on the death of my Irish Setter, Molly, whom my grandfather had given me as a pup less than a month after we’d settled in Tilden (she’d been run over six months ago, on Christmas Day); a column I’d written in the spring for The Tilden Sentinel, my high school paper, on the upcoming millenium, had been picked up and reprinted in the Boston Globe; I’d done real well on my SATs; and not only were my braces gone, my pimples going, and my glasses replaced by contact lenses, but it was as if my features, which a year before had seemed unrelated to each other on an oily, pebbly field, had coalesced and turned me into a person with a face that was not really bad to look at. Just a week or so ago I’d overheard some of my mom’s friends admitting, while Mom was preparing refreshments in the kitchen, that to their amazement I was actually becoming a nice-looking boy. I was short but well proportioned at a wiry 5’7” and 133 pounds. I had dark brown hair and “beautiful” green eyes, people said, and not only was I at the top of my class at Tilden Academy, which for the second year in a row had come out ahead of Boston Latin, our arch rival, as one of the top public schools in the country, but I ran like the wind. I was still pretty shy and passive, but I had my own girlfriend, Tracy Mullins, who, unlike Brad’s cast-offs, seemed to like me for myself and not just because I was his best friend. Tracy was not only pretty and nice, she was also a “good” girl, and that was okay by me, since I wasn’t very sexually attracted to her. I was content just for the two of us to be seen holding hands and exchanging innocent kisses.
Brad said he was happy to see I had a girlfriend who for once didn’t have the hots for him. I didn’t tell him that the truth was Tracy didn’t even like him. She couldn’t say why when I pressed her. She just said there was something about him she didn’t trust. I didn’t like hearing that, but let it go. Brad was still my idol: blond, blue-eyed, with dimples in his cheeks and an angelic smile that could suddenly turn into an almost evil grin. At 5’10” and 160 pounds he was a walking heap of muscle with zero body fat, award-winning looks and an outgoing personality. The guys were all in awe of him and the girls all loved him.
He was real popular when it came to sports—if he was on your team you’d win—which was why he was elected captain of both next year’s varsity teams. But apart from me, a few hangers on, and his near equal on both teams, Donny Cataluna, a stupid lunkhead in Vocational Div famous for being the world’s worst bully, Brad didn’t have many male friends. With the exception of Donny, off the playing field most of his other teammates kept their distance. They admired Brad but didn’t really like him. And all of them, like me, were a little afraid of him: he had a quick temper and was not a good person to cross if you disrespected him or had something he wanted.
Behind his back most of Brad’s teammates called him conceited, mean-spirited and pushy, something they wouldn’t have dared call him to his face. I knew he could be exactly what they called him, even worse, but he was my closest friend and I would remain stubbornly loyal to him to death, despite his tendency to sock me so hard in the arm when he wanted to make a point that both my arms were often black and blue and aching. I defended him. Sure he had an exaggerated opinion of himself, I’d say, but with good reason: he got great marks and everyone knew that because of him Tilden Academy had its best football record in over six years and best wrestling record in ten. I wished I had half his self-confidence. The guys called me his toady.
For my part, I excused away a lot of his bad behavior by telling myself it was because he was an only child and came from a heap of money. I was an only child, too, and while we weren’t rich we were comfortable, but my mom, who remained religious, had raised me differently. Brad couldn’t help it if he'd always been given everything he wanted, most of the time as far as I could tell without argument. Besides, if he wasn’t given something, he took it. I was with him lots of times when he took money from his dad’s wallet to buy himself something he wasn’t sure his dad would want him to have, though his dad usually bought it for him before he had to use the money he’d taken. No wonder he believed that whatever he desired was his. But was that totally his fault? I told myself it wasn’t. That’s how he was raised, how he was taught.
In any case, and as I said, my troubles with Brad began late one hot July night though the real bad stuff wouldn’t happen till the end of the month and the first week of August.
We’d spent the night playing our Game Boy 2s and talking about girls. Brad had decided to stay over and we were both lying on my king-size bed (a hand-me-down from Brad’s family), looking at the TV neither of us was paying attention to when Brad suddenly started bragging about how thick and long his cock had become since we were fourteen. Then, to my amazement, he turned over on his back—he’d been lying on his belly—to reveal a hard cock clearly defined inside his tighty whities, a huge cock that he then pulled out of his briefs and flicked back and forth in my direction. If I’d sometimes been aware of his cock when we wrestled, I hadn’t really looked at it in years, and while I didn’t want to look at it now, I had to concede it had grown a lot since the last time I’d seen it and was a monster compared to mine.
“Put that away, man.”
He gave me a big grin and turned on his side to face me. "Hey, wanna jerk me off like you used to? Look at this thick rod, Bobby, it's so fucking hot right now it will probably only take a stroke or two. Whaddaya say?"
“I’ll pass dude, so put it away. I mean it's not like we’re kids anymore. It would be weird doing something like that with you now, kind of, well, you know, gay."
Brad was shocked and disappointed. "All I’m asking you to do is lend your best bud a hand. We both know we’re not faggots, so what's the big deal? Go ahead, wrap your hand around my rod and stroke it like you used to. You’ll probably need both hands, I betcha just one of them won’t fit around it anymore, ha ha!"
I stood my ground. "Listen, dude, you're my best friend in the world and I’d do anything for you, you name it. But I can't do this. it just isn’t right, it's just, well, it's just too gay, dude, simple as that!"
Now he was getting angry. "Are you calling me a fag because I ask you to jerk me off? You want me to beat the shit out of you like I used to? We’ll see who’s the fag!”
He was on a tear and I knew he’d hurt me, too, if I didn’t say something to stop him. "That’s not what I'm saying, Brad! It’s just that if I jacked you off, I myself would feel sort of gay. I know we’re not gay but I’d feel that way! That's all I’m trying to say!"
But that wasn’t good enough for him. Brad remained angry. "Well I don’t like what you’re trying to say!” he shouted. “What the fuck, you tell me in one breath that you'd do anything for me, and then when I ask you to do me one fucking favor, you refuse!”
“Brad, I don’t want us waking my mom…”
It wasn’t a real good excuse. The year before, I’d convinced Mom to let me fix up the huge room over the garage as my bedroom, so I’d have space for weights and things. It was at the opposite end of the house from hers, so she’d hardly have heard us if she’d been wide awake and we’d been shouting bloody murder. As it was, she’d gotten home just a few hours ago from doing a double shift at the hospital and had said she was drunk with exhaustion before wishing us good night.
But Brad did lower his voice. “Fuck dude, I’m horny, and it's been three fucking days since I've gotten off, I'm dying here, and you, my best fucking friend in the world, are refusing to help me out. OK, listen, I'll tell you what: you jerk me off, and just so you wont feel like a fucking faggot, I'll do the same for you. Deal?"
I didn’t answer right away. I didn’t want to do it, but I had told him I’d do anything for him, and I didn’t want to think of the consequences if he remained pissed off at me. Finally, I convinced myself that if he was willing to pump my dick till I shot, I couldn’t refuse him the favor.
"Ok dude, it's a deal, but never again after this, you gotta promise me that, ok?"
He didn’t answer. He got up on his knees and straddled my chest, pulling down the waistband of his briefs and tucking it under his large ballsac. I noticed how big he was getting everywhere. His shoulders were broad, his chest was huge, his pecs were cut deep, and even his nipples stood out. His whole upper body tapered to a perfect V. His thighs straddling my chest were thick and powerful. He was smooth except for some fine blond tufts of hair under his armpits, and a thin trail of light hair leading down from his navel to a nice-sized patch of pubes just above his monster dick. His large ballsac now resting on my chest was also smooth, and it was plump as hell, showing off the outline of two large egg shapes hidden behind the tight skin.
He sat on top of me with his full weight on my abs. I’d been in this position with him a lot before, but never with his hard cock and balls staring me in the face. I was getting aroused, but didn’t want to be. My whole body started to tremble. Tiny goosebumps were breaking out all over me. The heat from Brad’s butt and thighs warmed me a little, but it seemed like a cold draft had entered the room. I had to use all my willpower to keep my teeth from chattering.
"I’ll jerk you off, Brad, if you want me to, but do you have to sit on me?”
He grinned. "I just figure we may as well be comfortable while you're doing it, right? I know I'm comfortable. And from the look of you resting on your back, you look pretty comfortable too. This is always your favorite position when we wrestle.”
“No, it’s not!”
I couldn't understand what was happening to me. My body was quivering beneath Brad's powerful weight, something it never did when we wrestled; my mouth was dry and I had a strange feeling in my stomach.
"Then why do you find yourself in it all the time?” Brad’s idea of a joke. He laughed. “You love having me on top of you. Actually, you like it best when I sit a little higher on your chest, don’t you? Like this?"
He slid his warm butt up my chest, almost to my neck. His plump, heavy ballsac rested on my chin. His thick cock pulsed upwards, directly over my face. My arms were pinned down beneath his knees.
I’d never seen a cock this close up before. My heart was pounding. If he hadn’t been holding me down I might have run off screaming. My whole body was trembling.
"Get off me, Brad, I can’t breathe! Seriously man, I said I'd jerk you off, so get off me so I can do it. I can’t do it like this!”
Brad put a finger over my lips. “You don’t wanna wake your mom, dude.”
“I can’t breathe…”
"I don’t know what you’re getting all panicked about. I'm not gonna fucking beat on you or anything, what the fuck you shaking for? I just decided that if you’re gonna jerk me off, I'd like you to do it in this position.” He slid off my chest and settled on my abs, his knees spreading wide and releasing my arms. “Go ahead Bobby, look at it, look how fuckin’ huge it's gotten since the last time you saw it. Come on, wrap your hand around it, feel how fuckin’ thick it is. Check out my balls, dude. Ain't those motherfuckers big? You can touch ‘em if you want. Fuck, dude, you're my best friend, you can kiss ‘em if you want, I won’t stop you!" And he raised himself up and forward again, this time settling his balls on my mouth.
I turned my head. "Don’t do that, Brad, just let me jack you off!"
"Be my guest,” he said, sliding back down to my belly. “You wrap your hand around that fucker, and start stroking. Pump it nice and slow for your best buddy here."
My right arm was still feeling the weight of his knee when I raised it to wrap my hand around his cock. He was right, I couldn't get my hand entirely around it. It had to be close to twice as thick as my own. I was envious, jealous, a little embarrassed at being so much smaller.
He was happy. “This is so cool, dude. Just wait till you see me cum, it’s been three days! You know what I think, Bobby? I think you may want to go back to doing this on a regular basis.”
I pressed my lips together, took a deep breath and continued pumping.
He looked up at the ceiling and made happy moans. I stared at his chest and pecs. The muscles were tensing up big time, his hands were laced behind his head, his guns bulged, the blond tufts of hair in his armpits were wet. I noticed for the first time ever the veins in his thick neck. I pumped harder. Disgusting as what I was doing may have been, the truth is I liked the feel of his cock. The fat silky big-veined shaft was wonderful to the touch and beautifully solid in my hand.
His cock got harder, if that was possible, and beneath my pumping hand I felt his balls tighten. His body tensed, his breaths came fast and short. He raised himself up on his knees, opened his mouth. I was terrified he’d start to roar and wake my mom as I pumped harder, faster. Then he shot. Luckily, he made no sound.
I watched in fascination. It was like a fountain shooting up a thick milky liquid that must have gone at least a foot in the air before it reached the top of its arc and started down. I shut my eyes just in time to avoid a thick wad of cum that plopped down on my left eyelid. Brad took over pumping his dick. I kept my eyes closed as more and more creamy gobs splattered on my face, splashing my forehead, my eyelids, my cheeks, my nose, my lips. He’d warned me he had gallons of cum in him. Now I got scared I was going to drown in it, it was in my nostrils.
I opened my lips to breathe, and tried to wipe my nose and eyes, but Brad had sat down on me again, all the way up on my chest, pinning my arms under his knees which were pressed close on either side of my face. I couldn’t reach my face with my hands, I had to snort the cum out of my nostrils. The thick amoniac smell of cum was overpowering, harsh, it stung my cheeks, burned my mucous membranes, I wanted to scream but was afraid the noise would in fact wake my mom and she’d come in to find out what was wrong.
Cum was on my lips, I tasted its salty sweetness. “It stings, I can’t open my eyes!” I said
Brad wiped my eyes, but not before he had smoothed his cum all over my face, then wiped his cum-wet hand on my belly.
“You can open your eyes now,” he said. It took some time before I gathered the courage to do that. When I finally did, my eyes stung, I blinked several times. Seconds ago I’d felt something hairy brushing my lips. Now, on opening my eyes, I thought something had gone wrong with my vision, I couldn’t make anything out. It took me a moment to realize I was looking at the fat underside of Brad’s hairy ballsac. His balls were hanging right over my eyes. Now he pulled back a little, lowered himself, and started dragging his balls over my face.
“Don’t do that,” I groaned.
“Open your mouth,” he said.
“Why?” I began, but as I was saying it he pushed his balls past my lips, and before I could protest his entire ballsac was in my mouth. The hairs of his scrotum were wet and sticky with the slime he had wiped from my face. I made urgent sounds for him to pull out but he paid no attention. He sat heavily on top of me, held his balls in my mouth between his index and middle fingers like smokers hold cigarettes, and sealed my mouth with the rest of his hand, using his thumb to hold it closed under my chin, so I couldn’t push the balls out with my tongue. My protests came out as muffled grunts. I tried turning my head first to one side, then the other, but with his hand pressing down and his knees pressing in tightly on either side, my face was locked in position
“Just hold them there, nice and warm and wet,” he said, “and watch those teeth.” I stared up helplessly at him as he grinned down at me. Brad’s cum-covered balls are in my mouth, I thought. I felt a surge of nausea, I was going to vomit.
“Don’t do it,” he said, showing me a fist.
I closed my eyes tight and pulled in a deep breath around his sac. Fortunately the nausea passed. When I opened my eyes, he was smiling at me.
“That was one awesome handjob, dude. By the way, you can’t see yourself so you don’t know it, but I just improved your looks one hundred percent. My cum’s a great skin cream, it’ll really get rid of your zits. You're gonna be able to nail any fucking chick you want to from now on. But you may have to tell her it's my cum on your face and my balls in your mouth or she may think you were born looking that handsome." He laughed heartily.
I didn’t know how much longer I could lie there without barfing with his cum-tasting nuts in my mouth.
“Want out, dude?” I grunted yes. “OK, I’ll let you, even though you look so good. But first, wash my nuts off with your tongue, they’re all gooey, k? Lick away.”
I had no choice. I licked his hairy balls until Brad declared himself satisfied and withdrew them. He rolled off me and lay down beside me on his belly. "That was great, dude,” he said sleepily. “You were so good I may even let you do that again in the morning!”
His cum had hardened, and was covering my face like a mask. When I wrinkled my nose, it cracked in places, releasing a strong waft of cumsmell. I had to wash it off.
As I started to get up, Brad swung an arm across my chest, holding me down. "Where are you off to?" he muttered in a sleepy voice.
“I just wanna wash my face." I tried once again to get up. Now he raised a powerful leg and brought it down across my abs.
"Your face is fine. You can wash in the morning. Get some sleep."
“Hey, dude, wake up. We had a deal. You said you’d jerk me off…”
Brad opened his eyes and looked at me. "Jerk you off? Hell no! I'm no fag, dude! Now get some sleep. You can leave my cum on your face as punishment for being such a pain in the ass."
I was enraged. "Dude, we had a deal!”
Brad swung over on top of me and glared into my face. "Listen, you little shit, even with that awesome hand job you gave me, even with you so hungrily sucking my nuts, I'm still not in a very good mood. So for your own sake, just close your eyes and go to sleep. Don’t piss me off more than you already have, k?"
I didn’t dare say anything back, but in my mind our friendship was over. Not that I could or would tell him that, then. But I would in the morning. Meanwhile, he slipped off me and back onto his belly, flopped an arm and a leg over me to make sure I stayed put, and within seconds was asleep. It took me a while, but eventually I slept, too.
For Brad the next morning it was as though nothing had happened. I awoke to a joyful voice in my ear. "Hey sleepyhead, what do you say we go and grab breakfast at Micky Dees? My treat. Then, if you want, we can go see ‘Fight Club.’ Come on, grab a shower, you look like shit. I'll run home, get some bucks. You be ready by the time I get back, cause I'm like fuckin’ starving here."
I would tell him over breakfast that I didn’t want to hang with him anymore. But when I tried, all that came out was, "Listen Brad, I never wanna do that again, k?"
He grinned. "Eat up, dude, we'll be late for the movie. By the way, Shannon's folks are away till late tonight, I plan on fucking her brains out. Why don't you bring Tracy over and do the same, I think you'll feel better afterwards!"
I hadn’t fucked Tracy yet and was pretty sure I wouldn’t that night or maybe ever, but I didn’t say that to Brad. I made up my mind to call her after the movie and ask if she wanted to do something together, I hoped it might make me feel better about myself.
I remained pissed for the next two weeks and avoided Brad. Maybe he was avoiding me, too, which was fine by me. But then I got home late one afternoon from my part-time delivery job at Angelo’s Pizzeria and he was sitting and drinking lemonade in the kitchen with my mom, herself just back from work and still wearing her nurse’s uniform, and he and I were back to being best friends again, as if nothing had happened.
But something had happened, and it rankled deep inside me, even if we didn’t talk about it, and on the surface everything was the same.
A week or so later, Brad dumped Shannon for the umpteenth time for the same reason as always.
Brad’s cousin Danny had recently shown him his first porn video, which had an awesome cocksucking scene in it. That had gotten him all fired up. He was determined to get his cock in Shannon’s mouth, but while she was as always available to let him fuck her, there was no way he could wheedle her into swallowing that thing of his. It was too big, she said, and besides, she just didn’t like the idea.
Brad stayed over at my place that Thursday evening. It was the first time we’d spent a night together since I’d jerked him off, and I’d have been been happier if he’d gone home, but I couldn’t say that to him since I didn’t want to tell him why.
He bitched all night about Shannon not wanting to blow him. I did my best to be a good bud by giving him a sympathetic ear, but he was getting on my nerves. “Why don’t you just be glad you get laid whenever you want?” I said.
He told me I couldn’t understand what he was talking about, since I’d never had a blowjob myself. "Fuck dude, that cunt in the video took nine and a half fucking inches all the way down her throat, and that dude fucked her mouth as hard as he fucked her pussy. Harder, I think."
Brad sat up and flipped on the light. I glanced over at him. He had lain back down and was massaging his crotch. I saw a repeat of what had happened earlier that month taking shape in his mind. But he was still going on about Shannon. “I’m over her big time, man. That new babe that moved in next door to Aaron Saunders has the hots for my meat. She just may be willing to chew on it.”
The outline of his shaft as well as his bull-sized balls were showing clearly through the soft tight cotton of his briefs. With his thick knob peeking out over the waistband, he turned to me and grinned.
"Remember when you jerked me off last month, dude? Fuck, you were pissed like for a whole fuckin’ week."
He rubbed himself slowly. I got up.
“I’m going to take shower,” I said. “Be out in a few.”
“Whatever.”
Instead of a shower I took a long hot bath to make sure he’d be asleep once I got back to the room. He was, but I didn’t fall asleep myself till around three in the morning, which put me in a lousy mood the next day.
Brad woke me early. He was already dressed and on his way out. He invited me over to his house for lunch. He was going away that afternoon, driving up to his grandparents’ camp in New Hampshire, and he thought it would be fun if we spent time together before he left. He’d be away for the next ten days, maybe longer. I said I’d be there, then closed my eyes and tried to go back to sleep. A moment later I heard him shouting something that made my mom laugh as he left the house and our kitchen door slammed behind him.
I didn’t fall back to sleep right away. I lay in bed wondering about Brad and New Hampshire. This was the first summer he’d spent home in Tilden since we’d known each other, mainly because he wanted to stay near Shannon and a few other girls he had his eye on. Every other summer since my mom and I had moved up north he’d gone up to his grandparents’ camp almost as soon as school was out, not returning till football camp a few days before school started. He always came back with wonderful stories of swimming and fishing and hiking with his big family of aunts and uncles and older cousins, filling me with envy and jealousy. Since we’d been ten he’d been telling me he wanted me to come and spend time up there with him, but for some reason, though his family was always nice to me, I never got invited.
We had sandwiches with his parents for lunch, then went up to Brad’s room where he began throwing stuff into a backpack while I played Space Invaders. The phone rang and a few minutes later Brad’s mom called upstairs for him to pick up the receiver in his room. It was his grandmother. Brad and his grandmother had a brief conversation I didn’t pay much attention to, until his tone changed. My ears pricked up when I heard him say, “That’s awesome, grandma! Bobby’s right here. I’ll call you back as soon as he checks with his mom!”
Brad hung up the phone, let out a cheer and jumped on me. He forced me to wrestle with him until he had me on my belly with my legs pulled up and bent back behind me and his socked feet in my face.
"Dude, what’re you laying on the floor for? Get the fuck up, and go beg your mom to let you go to New Hampshire for ten days of awesome fishing!” He pulled my legs back harder with one arm and with his free hand pushed my face into his feet, then rubbed my face in his socks. Their mild odor entered my nostrils, and I felt a stirring in my dick. Brad let me up. “By the way,” he said as I started out the door, “I'm saving the best news for when you get your mom’s ok. Come on, dude, get up and run home. I want your ass back here fast! Tell her it’s for ten whole days, until a week from Sunday. Now move it before I pounce on you again, or shove my foot in your mouth!"
Great story, sending some links with pics to this bully / victim theme :
http://www.asvictims.com/preview/images-31939.jpg
http://www.asvictims.com/preview/images-31622.jpg
http://www.asvictims.com/preview/images-31371.jpg
http://www.asvictims.com/preview/images-30812.jpg
ENJOY ...
Posted by: Jirka | July 17, 2009 at 09:31 AM