MR. BILL'S GROCERY

Part 1 - The Back Storeroom

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When I was a young boy in the fifties, I lived with my mother and father in the outskirts of a growing mid-sized city.� We lived in a very modest tract house that looked very much like every other house in the new post-war subdivision populated by working class families.�

Directly behind us lived the McDonalds.� How they packed that many kids into that small house amazes me today, but back then they did it with seeming ease.� There must have been seven kids when they first moved in, expanding to nine by the time they moved away.� The middle kids were my playmates and we played all day, every day, before I started grade school.� Back then, before air conditioning was common, we played outside.� I'd go out in the morning after breakfast, run around the neighborhood, maybe grab a sandwich for lunch and then play outside until supper time just after my father came home from work, then I'd go play outside again until dark.� My dad wasn't much on playing with me after a hard day's work, but Mr. McDonald always seemed to have the energy and relished playing with his kids after work.� I was always included, just as if I were one of his offspring.�

Back then, all the kids were free to roam about, just long as we stayed within a few blocks of home.� It was perfectly okay if I went off to the nearby playground with or without a group of McDonalds or other kids. No one feared one of us kids being grabbed for ransom, as there was no money in that, nor did anyone fear that we'd be grabbed and physically harmed... that just didn't happen.

Of course I didn't spend every waking moment playing, but sometimes I accompanied my mother to a nearby grocery to get a few items.� The store was Mr. Bill's Grocery, owned and operated by Mr. Bill, who was a kindly older man. His store was on a busy two lane road, but by cutting through an undeveloped grassy field, my mother and I could walk there easily, approaching the store from the rear and never crossing Myers Road.� The store had been there for decades and was housed in a camel-back two story white wood frame building.� The store and storeroom were downstairs, while upstairs over the storeroom was Mr. Bill's living quarters.

Mr. Bill's had a very limited inventory, bread, milk, a few cans of soup, bags of sugar, cigarettes, the sort of things that you'd find nowadays at a 7-11 or other convenience store manned by a Pakistani.� It wasn't a place where you'd do your weekly shopping, but it was the place to go to pick up a quick item or two.

We only had one car and Dad drove that to work, so if Mom needed something, it was on foot to Mr. Bill's or nothing.� Mr. Bill was very friendly to all his customers and every time I went in with my mother, he'd give me a penny candy treat.� I liked Mr. Bill.� He was nice, always nice.

The summer before I began school, my mother started sending me there alone to get what she needed.� She'd give me a handwritten note which I gave to Mr. Bill.� He'd give me what Mom needed and added it to her tab.� He also gave me a penny candy treat, which to me was a deal.� Later on, within a week or so, she'd go by the store herself to get something and pay her bill.� It was how it was done in the mid fifties.

Once I started school, things naturally changed somewhat.� The grade school I went to was about two miles towards town on Myers Road.� Myers Road, being a major thoroughfare, was also on a bus route. With me in school all day, Mom took a job downtown.� In the morning we'd walk over to Mr. Bill's, where there was a bus stop, and we'd take the bus.� I'd get off at my school while Mom continued on to work.� In the afternoon, things were different.� Being allowed to explore the world around us and play unsupervised taught us the importance of thinking for ourselves.� I had a bus token and alone I caught the bus in front of the school, riding it to Mr. Bill's where I'd get off.� I knew my landmarks and knew which way was which and never once did I screw that up by getting on the bus going the wrong way or not getting off at Mr. Bill's.� Then I go play until around the time my mom got home or just before supper.

One day, after school, I wandered into Mr. Bill's.� I wasn't shopping for anything, as I didn't have a spare nickel.� I just went in for the heck of it, hoping that he'd offer me a penny candy. Even though there was a lot of passing traffic outside, the store was all but empty of customers, just like it always seemed to be.

Mr. Bill was as nice as ever.� After checking out the goods of the sole customer, an old lady, he asked me if I was there to get something for my mother.�

"No, sir.� She won't be home from work until later on," I replied.

"Yes, she gets off the bus around six," Mr. Bill observed smiling warmly.

Then he asked me the question that I had been hoping he'd ask.� "Do you want a candy?"

"Yes, sir!"

He went to the glass jars where he kept such merchandise, reached in and pulled out a candy.� He reached out towards me, but before I could take it off his hands, he pulled it back.� He'd never done that before.� I'm certain I was puzzled by it.� Then he said, "Do you want this, or would rather have an ice cream bar?"

That was dumb question.� Of course I wanted the ice cream more!� He walked me over to his freezer chest and opened the heavy steel lid.� "What would you like, Jimmy?"

Wow!� I even I had a choice! I opted for an Eskimo Pie on a stick.� He reached in and pulled it out.� Again he started to hand it to me and just as I was about to take it, he pulled it back.� He frowned and said, "You know, your mother might not like it if you ate this and it spoiled your supper."� He was right about that! He smiled and added, "Well, she doesn't need to know, now does she?"

"No, sir," I replied anxious to have my ice cream.

"It has to be our secret," he said in low conspiratorial tone.� "Don't tell your mother I gave this to you, or she might not let you come in my store ever again."�

I certainly didn't want that! "No, sir.� I won't tell."

"Good boy."� He then began to hand me the ice cream bar, but once again he pulled it back.� It was so close, so close.� "Hmmm, someone might walk into the store, see you and tell your mother.� Better if you ate it in the storeroom."� With his usual warm friendly smile, he said, "Come on.� Follow me," and he lead me into that mysterious back room which until now I had only caught fleeting glimpses of.

There were boxes stacked here and there in the windowless room, stairs leading to the second story and a sink tucked under the open staircase.� He left the door slightly ajar so that he could hear the jingling of the door bell when someone entered the store through the heavy screened door.� From behind the stack of boxes, I couldn't see out into the store, nor could anyone see me.� Once again he offered me the ice cream only to draw it back.

"Maybe this isn't such a good idea," he said with a thoughtful look.� "You might get ice cream on your clothes and your mother would know."

I was crushed and pleaded that I wouldn't get it on my clothes.

He seemed to be thinking the situation over and then said, "I know.� Take off your shirt, so you don't get ice cream on it."� Seemed like a reasonable idea to me.

Shirtless, I reached out for my treat.

"You might get on your pants," he now said.� Desperate for the ice cream bar, I kicked off my shoes.� Down and off went my pants.

"Socks," he said.

Why the socks?� I never asked.� Off came the socks.

"Underwear."

You'd think I might have caught on to his game by then, but I knew Mr. Bill and I trusted Mr. Bill. He was after all an adult and a friend of my mother. But, more than that I wanted the damned ice cream!�� Off came my undies.� Only when he had me stark naked did he give me the Eskimo Pie I so desired.

He didn't touch me, but simply watched while I ate my now melting ice cream.� "Not so fast, Jimmy," he told me.� "Make it last." I slowed down, grinning up at him as he lecherously grinned down at me.

Eventually I finished, but not before I had it all over my hands, my chin and had a glob dripping down my naked chest.� I offered him the bare stick.� "Just put it in the trash can over there," he said pointing in the direction of the sink.� I walked across the room, giving him the view of my young backside that he wanted.� Then he wet a wash rag and proceeded to wash my face, my hands and my chest. Having removed the residue, he sent me back to my pile of clothes, telling me I'd better get dressed.

Fully dressed, we went back out into the store just moments before a customer walked in.� Mr. Bill leaned over telling me, "Your mother will never know about the ice cream.� Remember, it's our secret," and sent me on my way none the wiser as to what had actually just happened.�

That night I discovered just how clever Mr. Bill was... Mom didn't suspect a thing.

Mom was always warning me not to wear out my welcome.� She was referring to my afternoon play with the McDonalds and their dad. If I were intruding, Mr. McDonald never acted like I was. I was very naive, as the ice cream episode attests, but I wasn't stupid and by inference I applied Mom's warning to Mr. Bill.� I didn't go into his store for a few days.� When I did, he asked me where I'd been.

"I don't want to wear out my welcome," I replied.

"Trust me, Jimmy, you won't wear out your welcome.� Now, how about a treat?" he asked. I brightly agreed.� He opened the glass jar with the penny candies and asked, "One of these or,'" pointing to the freezer chest, "one of those?"

My smile went ear to ear as I pointed to the freezer chest where he kept the ice cream bars, "One of those!" I nearly shouted.

Again he let me pick out what I wanted.� In those days I was very favorably disposed towards Eskimo Pies and Nutty Buddies.� I went for the Nutty Buddy, a pre-made ice cream waffle cone, dipped in chocolate and sprinkled with crushed peanuts.� He pulled one from the freezer and told me that I should eat it in the back, lest a neighbor come in a see me eating it.� I thought nothing of it and headed for the back room.�

Once back there he went directly for the kill.� "Better take those clothes off."� I did.� All of them and without any coaxing.� Once naked, he handed the ice cream cone to me and then watched me as I ate it, completely unaware of his true agenda. He probably had a huge hard-on as he watched, but I wasn't aware of it at the time. As before, he had me carry my trash across the room to dispose of it and then he cleaned me up before I got dressed again.�

Like the first time, he didn't touch me other than with that wet wash cloth, which he was quite liberal with, if you get my drift.� He just watched and looked.�

This was repeated several times over the following few weeks.� Me naked, eating an ice cream in the back storeroom as he leered looking on, plotting his next move.� The only variation was when the front door bell jingled.� "Stay right here," he'd tell me, then he went out front to wait on his customer.� That finished, he came back into the store room where nude, I was patiently waiting for him to return.� When he did return, he wanted to talk to me for a while before cleaning me up and getting me dressed, asking questions about this and that and nothing in particular, anything to keep me talking and keep me naked.

Mr. Bill was very patient and took it slow.� By the third or fourth week of this routine I was perfectly comfortable, comfortable enough to turn this way and that for him, so he could check out some fictitious mole on my butt.� By then I suspected that he was getting his kicks looking at me naked.� As for me, I felt safe, plus I was excited to be putting on such a naughty show for him.�

When he finally touched me, I wasn't alarmed in the least. He was my friend and I liked him and trusted him.� I let him do what he wanted to do.� The fact that he was fondling my little stiffie and putting his hand up my crack merely made me giggle.� Ice cream was always the catalyst, and the naked sessions grew in length.� The bell would jingle and he'd leave me for a few minutes while the customer was shopping and then he'd return to molest me until the bell jingled again. The sessions became so long that on the afternoons I was visiting Mr. Bill, I hardly ever had time to play with the McDonald kids before my mom got home.

Mr. Bill arranged the boxes so that behind the screen of stacked boxes he had a place to sit.� He'd sit and he'd pull me into his lap where he'd play with my dick.� Or he'd have me lie upon them and he'd play with my ass.� Once he knew that I was comfortable with all that, he started kissing and licking my dick.� I thought that was way naughty, but I let him do what he wanted, including sucking on my little seven year old pecker.� I liked that.� It felt good.� I liked that a lot.� I liked it when he toyed with my asshole and when he pushed a finger up my butt.� I never said no, not once.� I never stopped him from doing anything with or to me.� And like that first day, Mom never knew or suspected that I was getting free cream nor that I was being molested nearly every day after school.

Of course Mr. Bill didn't stop with just feeling me up and sucking me.� Eventually he exposed himself.� I'd seen my dad's dick on occasion, but not erect like Mr. Bill's cock was.� To me, it was rather strange looking, as he was uncut.� When he asked if I wanted to touch it, I did.� It didn't feel anything like my own dick, as it was much bigger and hot to the touch, and naturally my fingers on his dick didn't feel like my fingers on my own dick.� As he got harder, the head emerged from its sheath of foreskin, an action that was of considerable interest to me.� At the time, he seemed huge, but I suppose he was average and no bigger than my dad

So there I was one afternoon with his hard cock in my hand and he tells me, "Suck it, boy.� Suck it like I suck yours."

I wasn't so sure about that, but fair's fair.� After a five-week-long campaign, Mr. Bill achieved the victory he sought as I took his big adult prong into my young virgin mouth.� I could only get the head in my mouth, but that was good enough for Mr. Bill.� It was also good enough for me.�

The door bell jingled.� Mr. Bill cursed, something I rarely heard him do, pulled his hard cock away, zipped up and tended to business.� I waited until he returned.� He unzipped and took his still rigid prong out and I resumed where we had left off.� The bell jingled again, interrupting us once again.� He put it away and went out to tend to the pesky customer.� He came back and I resumed sucking and licking his knob.� Boy was I surprised when he unloaded in my mouth!� He had me by the head and I couldn't escape the spouting flood that filled my mouth.� When he had finished, I had cum all over me, dripping from my mouth, dripping down my chest.� It was a bigger mess than any ice cream mess I generated!

I looked at the curious grayish white goo and wondered what it was.� I had no idea, but took Mr. Bill at his word that he hadn't peed in my mouth.� The door bell jingled again.� It was a busy day.� Mr. Bill told me to clean myself up good.� I wasn't just to wipe it off, but to wash it off using plenty of soap and water.� Then he left.� I made quite a mess at the sink, but he never said anything about that.� Once I was cleaned up, I dressed and waited for him to come get me once the coast was clear.� It turned into a very busy day and eventually I just sneaked out of the storeroom with no one aware.

Just about every day after school, for what seemed like a long time to a little kid, I sucked Mr. Bill's dick in the back storeroom� and had my little dick sucked.� I also had my ass fingered quite a bit too.� I was always totally naked, whereas he only unzipped and let his cock out for sucking.� It was just too dangerous for him to undress and then have a customer come in.� No doubt he had a hard time stuffing his erection back in his pants, but that was the best he could safely do.�