Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 ï>¿Author: tooluser
Title: The Boy Batter
Part: 2
Keywords: mb, oral, assplay, rom, inc, viol, cons
Summary: Randy starts university, but receives some bad news.  His
mother wants to talk.  Has Chris innocently blabbed about the sexy new
games he plays with his big brother?

   9,879 words.

   Boy Batter pt.2 - The New Student by ToolUser (C)April 2009



   h2.Chapter 2

   Randy rubbed his temples, wincing as the letters in his textbook seemed
to blur and double in front of his eyes.  He sighed and looked at the clock
on his desk: an hour yet before his late shift at the grocery store.  He
stood up, stretching; maybe coffee would help.  He'd only been at
university a week, but the course schedule was relentless and he was
determined not to fall behind in his studies.

   He could hear the TV as he came downstairs.  Mom slumped on the couch,
her eyelids drooping, half-watching some sanitized soap version of the
American Dream.  Chris sat next to her, leaning close and drinking a glass
of milk.  He was already in his favorite old Ninja Turtle pajamas, and his
clear, smooth, boy's skin glowed like pearl against the fuzzy green cotton.
His Mom looked up as Randy passed behind the couch, and he patted the back
of it and smiled as he headed for the kitchen.

   He was filling the kettle when he heard his Mom's heavy tread behind
him.

   "Sit down Randy," she said.  "We need to talk."

   Randy jumped, feeling the cold water splash his hand.  He stood for a
moment, his heart racing, trying not to blame Chrissie for blabbing about
what they'd done together on the couch: he was, after all, only a kid. 
Since that Saturday they'd fooled around some, but now Chris was back at
school they'd had hardly any time alone together.  Chris had seemed happy
enough with just a snatched kiss or two and an innocent cuddle.  Randy, --
or at least, he thought ruefully, his cock -- had wanted more, but he'd
just been too busy preparing for university.

   And now it was all going to come crashing down.  Some innocent remark
had started Mom questioning, and Randy could just hear Chrissie's light,
guilt-free little voice chattering about the exciting new game he played
with his big brother.  He should have said that it was secret; impressed on
the boy how "telling" would get them all in trouble, but afterward Chris
had been so happy Randy hadn't had the heart to burden the boy's innocence.
So he'd just smiled when Chris whispered in his ear, asking if Randy was
thinking about him now and making sperms, and reminded his little bro' that
the game was private.

   Now his hand shook as he took the kettle from beneath the faucet, but
when, heart thumping, Randy turned and faced her, his Mother was just
sitting quietly at the table, her expression weary.

   "I've got some bad news, dear," she said.  "Crystal Demont has quit the
salon.  She's decided she's got to go nurse her mother over in Iowa City."

   "Oh." Randy tried to hide his relief.  This was not about himself and
Chris.  Chris hadn't blabbed: Mom still didn't know.  He raised his brows,
pantomiming incomprehension and trying to stop his hands shaking.  "So?"

   His Mom waved a hand, tired.  "So because she's leaving the salon,
they're taking the chance to cut back.  Instead of two five-hour posts,
there's only going to be one full time beautician."

   Glad of an excuse to turn his back, Randy moved to set the kettle on its
base, and flipped it on.  He took a deep breath to calm himself before
turning back to face his Mom.  "And they want you out?"

   "Oh no." His mother managed a smile.  "Word is, they're going to offer
it to me." She patted her blond curls, pantomiming smugness.  "Of course."
Then, abruptly, she stopped clowning and her smile faded.  "Wish I could
take it," she said.  "We could sure use the money."

   "But-" Randy began, and then understood.  "Oh.  You wouldn't be home in
time for Chrissie when he gets out of school."

   His Mom nodded.  "Worse; the new hours are ten until six, so after
travel, I'd barely be home for his bed-time." She stood up and came over to
put her hand on Randy's arm.

   "I'm sorry," she said.  "You knew we were stretched about as tight as we
could go.  Without my salon money, there's just no way we can pay the loan
installments on your school fees."

   Randy nodded, his heart sinking afresh.  His parents had managed to get
him on the new "Road to Learning" placement scheme: instead of a family
needing enough savings to pay all the fees up-front, the government paid
the university, and his parents paid monthly installments on the
low-interest loan to the Department of Education.  The trouble was, the
Republicans and their tame media had screamed about liberal hand-outs to
"deadbeat student spongers" and ruthlessly used the toxic-loans crisis to
hamstring the scheme.  Now the D.  Ed.  had no discretion: a single missed
payment put you in default, and the university was compelled to expel the
_"fiscally irresponsible"_ student.

   "I understand," Randy said.  "I guess I'll have to start looking for a
job, and then go to night school.  How long do we have?"

   "Two weeks yet," she said patting his arm, her sweet perfume enveloping
him like a hug.  "I'm sorry, dear.  I know you'd barely gotten your class
schedule."

   "Look," Randy said.  "We'll think up another explanation for me quitting
university.  I don't want to mention the school supervision thing, or
Chris'll get to thinking this is his fault - you know how he can be.  So
don't tell Chris, okay?"

   Chris's high voice sounded behind them: "Don't tell me what?"

   Randy turned to see his little brother standing in the doorway, cradling
his empty milk glass in his hands.

   "Just money trouble, little dude," Randy said.  "We didn't want to worry
you."

   "Oh." Chris looked from one to the other of them.  "Well, I don't know
why you wanted to stay longer in school anyway.  I sure don't!"

   "It's that bad?" Randy asked.  Behind him, the kettle boiled and clicked
off.

   "It's boring," Chris said, carrying his glass over to the sink. 
"They're making me learn all these fractions.  I mean, what will I ever
need to know multiplying five-eighths by eleven-sixteenths for?"

   "Ask Dad, sometime," Randy said, smiling.  "You heard about me quitting
college, huh?" He moved aside to allow Mom to get to the kettle.

   "Yeah." Chris reached up to put his glass on the drainer, and then
looked up at Randy seriously.  "Dad won't like it, and I don't like you
being a quitter either, Randy."

   _Ouch,_ Randy thought.  Team or no team, his little brother could be a
straight-hitter sometimes.

   "I'll see if I can think of something," Randy said.  "I don't want to
quit."

   "I'll do more chores," Chris offered.  "Even stuff I really don't like."

   Randy reached out and ruffled Chris's hair.  "What, like extra school?"
he asked, affectionately.

   "Sorry," Mom said, looking up from spooning coffee powder into a couple
of mugs.  "I already checked.  There aren't any after-school clubs that run
any longer than an hour."

   "Hey!" Chris said, indignant.  "You didn't ask me!  Those clubs suck!"

   She smiled, picking up the kettle.  "And if I'd asked you to do it for
Randy?" Her smile broadened as Chris shrugged, flushed and uncomfortable.

   Randy looked from one to the other as the burned-caramel odor of cheap
instant coffee filled the air.  "I really will try to think of something,"
he promised.

   "Will you tell me a bedtime story, Randy?" Chris asked.  "Like you used
to?"

   "Sure," Randy said.  Suddenly squeezing in an extra hour of study didn't
seem so important.  "Go brush your teeth, huh?  I'll come up in about five
minutes." He felt his heart do a flip at the boy's suddenly happy
expression.

   "Well, that's me off the hook, I guess," Mom said, offering Randy one of
the mugs of coffee.  "Thanks."

   "It's okay Mom," Chris said, moving close to her and turning his face up
to be kissed, "It's just nice having Randy home again, is all.  Oh, yeah--"
he looked around the kitchen and then pointed at the pile of laundry. 
"Will you wash that baseball uniform for me?  Coach Pedersen wants it back
- it was only a loaner."

   "Sure I will." She bent down and kissed the boy's hair.  "Maybe you'll
make the team next time, huh?  Goodnight then, dear.  Go wash up and get
ready for your story."

   "Okay, Mom!" Chris turned and scampered across the kitchen.

   "And no running on the stairs!" Randy yelled after his brother's rapidly
diminishing back.  He turned back to his mom.  "Don't worry," he said,
watching as she started sorting the brightly colored Spandex from the rest
of the dirty clothes, "I'll think of a way.  We've got two weeks, right?"



   h3.* * *



   It felt odd, stepping into Chris's bedroom again.  Despite it being
right next door to his own room, Randy couldn't remember even glancing
inside since Mom and Dad had moved their bedroom downstairs and he'd moved
out.  The room seemed much the same as when they'd both shared it, though
the Pokemon stuff which had covered Chris's half had gone.  Now posters of
film stars and cartoons decorated the walls.  He-Man flexed his arms on one
wall; Batman in his rubber muscle vest hung opposite; and the poster above
Chris's bed showed an androgynous boy wrestling trolls who looked more
horny than angry.

   The overhead light was off, the room lit only by the small "Sky
Projector" bedside lamp, and Chris's slender, pale little face glowed in
the dim-lit space like a fine ivory sculpture.

   "I'm ready for my story, Randy," Chris said, his eyes bright with
excitement.

   The boy was lying with his much-washed, once-gaudy "Indiana Jones"
coverlet pulled right up to his chin.  As he wriggled beneath it, Indy,
whip raised and shirt half-unbuttoned, seemed to flex his muscles ready for
action.

   "Yes?" Randy moved a pile of folded laundry and pushed a low chair close
to the bed.  "What's Mom been reading you?"

   "Oh, I don't want one from a _book,"_ Chris said.  "I want a proper,
made-up one like you used to tell me."

   "Aren't you a bit old for _Scratch and Sniffles?"_ Randy asked, settling
in the chair.  It was the kind that unfolded into a guest-futon, and was so
low he could rest his arm comfortably on the bed, his head almost level
with Chris's own.

   "Oh, I didn't mean them!" Chris said.  "I'm not scared of mice any more.
I just liked the way the stories were about us, really.  I was Scratch,
wasn't I?" He grinned at Randy's nod.  "I liked him best.  Sniffles was so
stuffy sometimes."

   "Hey!" Randy poked Chris's middle, through the coverlet.  "So you think
I'm stuffy, huh?"

   Chris giggled.  "And bossy!  Always telling me what to do!" He wriggled
under the covers again.

   "I don't recall it making much difference," Randy said.  "Seems to me
you only do what I tell you if I really, really insist."

   "Yes, Randy." Chris wriggled again, seeming even more flushed and
excited than before.

   "Just what are you doing under there?" Randy asked.

   Chris giggled and held up the coverlet so that Randy could see.  Beneath
it, the boy was naked, and his little dickie stood up hard, glistening
between his fingers.  A tube of hand-lotion rolled against his hip.  "See?"
he said.  "I've been practicing!"

   "Could we have a couch baseball story?" he pleaded as he let the bed
covers drop again.  "Please, Randy!"

   Randy struggled to keep his face deadpan.  "What, actual baseball?"

   "No.  I mean," Chris flushed.  "You know: kissing, and like that - like
we did.  I don't mind about the rest; it can be in space, or olden times,
or anything you like, just so long as it's men and boys."

   Randy chuckled.  "I'll give you stories, little minx!" He patted the
coverlet above his little brother's leg.  "How about Red Riding Pants - the
_boy_ who instead of visiting his granny goes and finds the big muscly
woodcutters?"

   "Ooo, yeah!" Chris grinned widely.  "That sounds neat!"

   "Or maybe the Prince, all lonely in his tower, who finds a lamp and
wishes for -"

   "A genie with a big cock!" Chris giggled.  "Magical so it could get
bigger and smaller!"

   "Yes." Randy slipped his hand beneath the coverlet and stroked the boy's
smooth legs.  "Or maybe he just wished for a handsome prince."

   "Oh yes," Chris breathed, his hand movements making the coverlet bounce.
"Tell me that one."

   "Well, okay, but quickly then," Randy said, settling himself
comfortably. "I've got to go to work soon."

   "Once upon a time," Randy began, "a king had two sons.  The older one,
Hipparos, was big and muscular, a tough, proper knight.  The younger son,
Amarus, was slender and pretty.  The king was very happy until the oldest
reached manhood and went away on a quest and he didn't come back.  The King
was in despair, because he needed a tough, proper knight to rule the
kingdom after him.  "What use to me are you?" the King said to his pretty
son, and he consulted the court magician, Venarian.

   "Venarian announced that if the king banished the boy to the secure room
in the tallest tower of the castle, then the older son would return, and
the kingdom would have its strong king after he was gone.

   "So the king allowed the spell, and banished his pretty son to the
tallest tower in the castle until his first son returned home.  And
Venarian smiled behind his beard, for he knew the older son was cursed, and
could not return home.  Now the dynasty would end, and the nobles who had
bribed him would divide the kingdom amongst themselves after the king died.

   Venarian knew that the secure room was a magic room, built for the old
Emperor's concubines, so that they couldn't escape, but he'd forgotten it
had other enchantments too.  As the years sleeted by everyone got older
except for the banished Prince, who stayed young and slender and pretty."

   Randy slid his hand under the coverlet and squeezed Chris's knee.  "Oh,"
he said, "Amarus enjoyed himself with the guards: big, strong men that the
King changed regularly.  "

   "Ooo, yeah," Chris said, his eyes gleaming.  "Did he have lots of
boyfriends?"

   "Well, yes - and no." Randy leaned closer and began to massage the
smooth skin of the boy's slender thighs.  "You see, Amarus was lucky he
liked hairy men with big dicks, and the King never could work out why there
was a waiting list for that particular post, and the Pretty Prince was
getting plenty of loving, spending all day being held and kissed by those
big strong men and gulping down their ball-juice and getting fucked at
least four times every day," Randy slid his hand up and stroked his
brother's little balls, feeling Chris's hand brushing against his own as
the boy jerked himself off.

   Chris moaned, wriggling wantonly beneath the coverlet.  "Big dicks?" he
whispered, "like yours, Randy?"

   "Yes," Randy said, shifting in the chair and grinning at the way his
little brother's eyes went to the big hard bulge in his jeans.  "Just like
mine."

   "But you see every time he was just getting to know a guy, the guard
would be whisked away." Randy grinned.  "Usually to light duties until his
strength returned, and another big, muscular stallion would arrive to take
his place.  The years went by, and although the king kept trying, he had no
other children.  But now the Pretty Prince was a prisoner in the tower
because of the spell, so all he could do was enjoy the men his father sent
to guard him."

   Randy stroked his fingers down between Chris's legs, and felt the boy
spread them apart, the coverlet still jerking above where Chris was rubbing
his hard little rod.  Randy stroked his fingertips across his brother's
velvety little close-folded pucker, and Chris groaned, humping his hips. 
"Mmmm, the boy moaned.

   Randy leaned closer.  "So Amarus the Pretty Prince was lonely.  But one
day, he looked up from sucking off one of his guards, and as he licked the
man's cum off his lips, he thought he looked very familiar.  The guard
looked nervous too, and when Amarus asked, the guard admitted that he'd
used a magic ring to appear young again just for the day and visit the
Prince once more in his tower.  He was anxious, he said, because the old
king was dying.  "After the King dies, there will be great danger for you,
my prince." He showed the Pretty Prince the ring: it had only one wish
left. "Take it my prince Amarus, - a gift," the man said.  "Wish yourself
free," he added, and hurried out, fastening his pants as he left.

   Amarus sat, turning the pretty ring over and over.  It was nice of the
guard, but the Pretty Prince wasn't stupid.  He knew Venarian's spell of
banishment used the enchantments in this room, and they were old and
powerful.  This ring was just a toy by comparison.

   "What could the ageless Pretty Prince do?  Call the other guards and let
the story get out?  That would be stupid.

   It seemed he thought for a long time, but in his heart there was only
one thing Amarus really, truly wanted.  A perfect husband, who would love
him."

   "Mmm," Chris moaned, rubbing his little ass against Randy's fingertips.

   "So he put the ring on and wished aloud," Randy said: "wished with all
his heart.  At once there was a glow of pearly light and a man appeared. 
He was broad-shouldered, handsome, and richly dressed."

   Chris giggled.  "I bed he didn't stay dressed for long."

   Randy laughed.  "No, he didn't.  But there was a problem," Randy said as
he wet his finger and then slipped his hand back under the covers.  "The
moment the Handsome Man was naked, the Pretty Prince gasped.  He'd never
seen such a big, hard cock!  It was enormous - half as long as the man's
arm!  Surely it would hurt?

   "Oh," Randy continued as he rubbed his big finger against his brother's
elastic, rubbery little asshole, "sure, he'd sucked dicks nearly that big
before, and loved it when some of his rougher guards fucked his mouth, but
the magic room had kept him a boy: he'd never been ass fucked by a dick
that big before."

   With his free hand, Randy pushed the coverlet aside and began stroking
the boy's slender hips.  Chris lifted his knees, allowing Randy easier
access to the pink rosette of his little hole.

   "But he knew this was his perfect Husband," Randy said, squirting a
little lotion onto his fingers.  "The Pretty Prince couldn't stop looking
at him.  He was tall and strong, and he picked Amarus up in his big arms as
though he was a feather."

   Chris sighed and closed his eyes, his fingers still rubbing his little
dick.

   "The Pretty Prince could feel the handsome man's huge cock pressed
against his side, and he was looking forward to sucking it," Randy said. 
"He just knew the guy would shoot his sperm everywhere, and the Pretty
Prince loved licking that up with his little pink tongue." Randy massaged
his slick fingers against his little brother's hole.

   "Mmm," Chris agreed, smiling.

   "But then the handsome man said: "Alas that we cannot be together!  For
although my memory is stolen away, I know that I am rich, but a wanderer,
cursed to never return home until I have fucked the one person who truly
loves me.  Many women have offered to let me fuck them, but they are all
grasping, calculating bitches who want me only for my wealth.  I would
rather be dead than be used like that."

   "The Prince doesn't want his money!" Chris exclaimed.  "He's not like
that!"

   "You're right!" Randy said.  "So, when the handsome man laid the Prince
on the bed, the Pretty Prince got out the special bottle of Royal Jelly
he'd never used yet.  He spread it all over that nice big cock, and then he
laid back on the bed like this." Randy lifted Chris's legs up so that the
boy's knees touched his chest.

   "Amarus was frightened," Randy said, massaging the pink ring of Chris's
little ass with his slick forefinger, "but he was very brave.  "Put your
cock in me," the Pretty Prince said to the man, "and then you won't have to
wander and be lonely any more."

   Randy pressed on Chris's little asshole, gently at first, and then more
firmly.

   "That hard cock felt very big as it started to go inside him," Randy
told the wide-eyed boy, "and when he looked down, he couldn't believe that
he was ever going to get anything that enormous inside his little ass."
Randy pushed a little harder, and felt the tip of his finger spread the
muscle of Chris's asshole open, just a little.  The boy whimpered, but kept
listening, absorbed in the story.

   "But the Prince was determined to help his handsome man, and so he told
the man to push harder." Randy suited the action to the word, and heard
Chris squeak again as his finger squeezed up into the boy's warm, slick
bowels.

   "It hurt, but the boy was brave and didn't complain or cry." Randy said
as he pushed his finger slowly inside his brother's pale little ass.  "He
could feel it all big and hard inside himself, filling him right up." Randy
pushed until he felt his knuckles press against the boy's asscheeks.

   Randy smiled, leaning over Chris, watching him just lying there, his
knees pressed against his chest, looking up into Randy's eyes.

   "In only a little while, the man was right inside, and the Pretty Prince
could feel that lovely big cock stretching his insides and spreading his
asshole wide open.  It still kind of hurt, but as the man began moving his
cock in and out, fucking him, the Pretty Prince couldn't have been
happier."

   "Ooh, yes," Chris whispered, staring up at him.  His little bottom felt
delightfully tight and hot around Randy's finger.

   "So his man began fucking him," Randy said.  "Pushing and pulling that
big hard cock in and out of his asshole.  Soon Amarus was gasping and
moaning as the big man folded him in half and fucked him really hard,"
Randy said, pressing Chris down into the bed and sawing his finger in and
out of his little brother's tight-gripping ring.

   Chris gasped, hugging his knees with one arm and rubbing his cock with
his other hand.  "Ooh," he gasped.  "Oooh, it's -"

   "Amarus could feel his handsome husband's cock ramming up his little
bottom, and he just tried to wriggle closer on the bed, making sure he got
as much of that lovely hard cock as he absolutely could inside him.  He
loved the feeling as the big man bent over him, kissing and nibbling his
neck, his big body pressing down on top of him."

   "Oooh!" Chris moaned, humping his little ass on Randy's finger.  "All
big and muscly and stern!"

   "Yes, strong and stern, too." Randy agreed, enjoying the hot, tight
glove of boy's little ass around his finger.  "He held little Amarus close,
telling him what to do and fucking his sweet little prince harder and
harder.  And all the time it seemed to the Pretty Prince that the man's
cock was getting bigger and harder than ever inside him.  It began to
throb, and the man gasped, and then all of a sudden Amarus could feel hot
spurts of cum inside his ass."

   "Mmmm!" Chris groaned, flopping his head from side to side on the
pillow. Randy felt the boy's ring tighten round his finger.  "Up his ass!"
he gasped, rubbing his little dick.  "Oh, yeah!  Uhhh!" He squeezed his
eyes tight shut, and Randy felt his finger gripped and squeezed as his
little brother wanked his dick.

   "Oh, Randy!" Chris squeaked.  "Randee-eee!" His tight asshole squeezed
tighter, and all of the boy's lean body twitched.  Chris bashed his head
against the pillow, rolling his whole body back and forth on the bed;
gritting his teeth; shivering and squeaking as he came.

   "Well," Randy said, once his little brother was listening again.  "At
the very moment Amarus felt those hot squirts inside his ass, the walls of
his tower prison room shimmered.  A moment later, he felt rough, scratchy
embroidery beneath his back, and he and his husband were lying on a big,
wide bed.  It wasn't empty though, an old man with a gray beard lay in it,
staring at them.  "Amarus!" the old king gasped.  "Hipparus!  My sons!"

   "You mean it was the Pretty Prince's big brother who was fucking him?"
Chris laughed, squeezing his ass around Randy's finger.  "I should have
guessed!"

   Randy smiled, "Sure it was," he said, stroking Chris's little balls with
his thumb, and wiggling his finger inside the boy.  "And the two brothers
ruled the kingdom together.  Nobody was quite sure which one was the king,
because they always sat on the throne together.  Well, Hipparus sat on the
throne itself, and Amarus sat on his brother's lap.  Whichever one it was
though, everyone was agreed that the country had never had a stronger,
wiser or happier king."

   Chris giggled and pushed his bangs back out of his eyes.  "I just bet
they were happy!  I wish I could sit like that during class!  Uh!  Uh! 
Uh!" he chanted, squeezing his ass muscles round Randy's finger with every
grunt.

   "Horny little beast," Randy murmured.  He leaned forward and kissed
first one of Chris's pink little nipples and then the boy's flushed face as
he reluctantly slid his finger out of his little brother's tight, gripping
warmth.  "The End.  You go to sleep now, huh?"

   "Okay Randy." Chris sighed and stretched.  His glistening little ring
looked plump-lipped; a little redder, but evidently not too sore.  "That
was a lovely story," he said, massaging his little asshole.

   "Glad you liked it." Randy pushed the boy's knees down and covered him
over with the bed covers.

   Chris blinked sleepily.  "You want me to do you now, Randy?  I can see
you're all big."

   Randy adjusted his hard-on to a more comfortable angle in his pants. 
"I'll take a rain-check on that, okay little stud?  Got to go off to work
now." He leaned forward, intending to peck his brother on the cheek, but
Chris turned his head and kissed him deeply, sliding his smooth little
boy-tongue into Randy's mouth.

   "Hey, horny!" Randy said, reluctantly breaking the kiss.  "You'll make
me late!  I've got to go to work, right now.  Sexy dreams, huh?" he
whispered.  "Good night."

   "G'night, Randy." Chris smiled and licked his lips, then obediently
closed his eyes.

   Randy worked the switch, turning the bedside lamp into a night-light,
and left his little brother curled beneath the sparkling stars of a
projected night sky.





   h3.* * *



   Randy shifted on his stool behind the cash register, listening to the
subliminal buzz of the strip lighting and the distant whoosh-whoosh of
tires on the blacktop outside.  God, he'd never felt so horny.  The store
was quiet: it was on a feeder road to the turnpike, and night trade was
almost entirely from the gas pumps out front.

   Late-night service was only through the service hatch.  At ten p.m. 
Randy had locked the public doors and switched off the main lights over the
fresh foods and the meat chillers, and three-fourths of the store became a
gloomy cavern lit only by pale emergency lighting and the violet-blue glow
of the insect zapper.

   Occasionally a customer would want groceries - usually just candy bars
or a bag of chips, and Randy would fetch them, putting the merchandise into
a deep drawer below the hatch and pushing it through, like a prison cell in
reverse.

   All through his shift, Randy tried to think about ways to raise money,
but he kept being distracted by images of Chrissie writhing on the bed, his
little red ass-ring gripping Randy's finger.  Despite jerking off in the
restroom ten minutes after the start of his shift, Randy was as hard as
steel.

   Two firm strokes were all it had taken in the bathroom before he was
pumping his cream into a wad of tissue.  He was glad - well, part of him
was glad - that he'd had to leave right after telling Chris the story or be
late for his shift, otherwise he knew he'd have succumbed and fucked the
boy, Mom downstairs or not.

   It was frightening.  Randy had always been proud of his self-control,
but now that slender little body was burning it all away.  It was worse
because he knew Chrissie would do anything for him.  He smiled.  Even more
schooling - you couldn't ask more devotion of a kid than that!

   Randy frowned, feeling a connection, an idea somewhere at the back of
his mind.  He knew there was an answer somewhere, he could feel it.

   A sudden tapping of coin on glass.  Startled, Randy turned and smiled at
the impatient fat man glowering at him the other side of the window,
feeling the half-idea unraveling into nothingness again.  He checked the
pump readout and rang the money into the till, and then sat, leaving his
textbooks in his bag, watching the headlights sweeping by and listening to
the tick-tick-tick of the clock slicing wasted seconds off his life.

   His shift relief showed up promptly at two a.m., and Randy drove home
through the cicada-haunted night, still hunting for that elusive
connection.



   h3.* * *



   Randy paused, listening, on the threshold to his own bedroom.  Was that
Chrissie he could hear, or just his own wishful thinking?  No, there it
came again.  He tiptoed to his brother's room and looked in.

   The ceiling glowed with a half moon and star-sparkles of projected
light, but Chris was just an indistinct dark hump beneath the coverlet.  As
Randy listened, he heard his little brother mumble something and then gasp
as if he were crying.

   "Hey, it's okay," Randy whispered, moving closer.  As he knelt down
beside the bed he got a clear look at the boy's face.  A pale blur beneath
the stray tendrils of his dark hair and thick, fluttering fans of black
lashes: the boy was still asleep.
"It's okay," he repeated.  "I'm here, you're safe." Randy felt his
stomach knot, but kept his voice calm and soft.  "You're safe." _Except

from me,_ his mind added.

   Chris sighed and seemed to relax.  He rubbed his face deeper into the
pillow and Randy leaned down and kissed his hair, smelling sweet baby
shampoo and soap.

   As he straightened up his foot kicked against something.  The hand
lotion.  Randy picked it up and took it back to the bathroom.  He felt like
a murderer disposing of the body.





   h3.* * *

   Randy jumped, jerked rudely awake by the alarm.  Six hours sleep: all he
was allowed.  He forced himself out of bed and stood there looking down at
the rumpled sheets, wondering if it was worth torturing himself like this.
Two more weeks - maybe three, since the university's defaulter-expulsion
procedures would probably take a little while.  He should just go back to
bed.

   Chrissie's voice sounded in his mind again: _I don't like you being a
quitter, Randy._

   Randy turned and stumbled out to the bathroom.  Later, sat in the
kitchen with coffee working its everyday miracle inside him, he realized he
didn't know the day's classes.  The schedule was too recent; he hadn't
learned them yet.

   The click as he stared at his class schedule was so loud, for a moment
Randy thought he'd actually heard it.  He looked at his watch and stood up.
If he started _now,_ there might just be time before his first class.

   h3.*

   The Dean tapped her pencil against the blotter, pursing her red-painted
lips as she read over Randy's notes.

   "Well," she said, "I certainly do sympathize with your predicament, and
the we appreciate your early advisement." She looked up, her eyes cool
blue. "Unofficially though, it wasn't in your best interest - you would
have gained nearly an extra ten days tuition while our procedures worked
through."

   She sighed, reversing her pencil and bouncing the eraser end
thoughtfully on the cardboard file cover.

   "You realize it would be revocable at any time?" She asked, abruptly. 
"Without notice?"

   "Yes, Dean!" Randy sat up straighter, feeling a surge of hope.

   "If there's the slightest trouble, we will have to cancel the
arrangement.  We cannot have teaching disrupted.  You understand?"

   "Yes ma'am!  Thank you!"

   She stood up, slim in her fitted dark business suit, and extended a
neatly manicured hand.  "Good luck.  It's a lot to ask of a nine year old,
especially a boy." She smiled as Randy stumbled to his feet.  "The letter
will be ready for you by lunchtime.  You will have to return it to the
office with all three signatures by the day after tomorrow.  After
informing us about your finances, that's the longest we can possibly delay.
I'm sorry."

   "Three signatures?  Shouldn't that be four?  I mean," Randy stuttered as
the dean raised a polite, penciled eyebrow, "Chris has got to agree too."

   She shrugged.  "He's below legal age, so it's irrelevant to us.  But if
you think it would help?  Okay then, four signatures, by the day after
tomorrow."

   Randy left, walking on air.





   h3.* * *



   Randy drove home with the letter in his pocket, but his good mood didn't
last past the front door.

   Yelling, from the kitchen: his Dad's bellow, counterpoint with Mom's
shriller anger.  His mouth dry, Randy ran to see.

   Dad stood with his back to him, purple with anger, his big hand wrapped
round Chris's shoulder.  "Faggot!" he was yelling as he shook the boy, "I'm
fucking ashamed of you!"

   Chris was sobbing something, his face shiny with tears.  As Randy
watched stupefied, Mom came round the table, trying to get between them. 
"Matt!" she shouted.  "He's just a kid!  Stop it!"

   "I didn't mean to," Chris sobbed.  "I didn't know!"

   "Don't you give me any of that crap!" Dad yelled, shoving his wife away.
"why did you keep going back then, you little shit?  Eh?" he yelled into
his son's face, "tell me that, if you didn't like it!"

   "Stop it!" Randy ran toward his father, but his father swung round,
surprisingly light on his feet for such a big man.  Randy didn't see the
fist coming, but it felt like being hit with a bag of concrete.  The world
exploded in pain and Randy spun backward, slamming into the fridge.  His
head snapped back, he felt it bash against the handle, but half his face
felt numb, like dead meat.  Then the floor tiles were cold against his
hands, and how had he got there?  Pulses of violet light exploded across
his vision.  He could hear running feet; his Mom's scream drilled through
his head like a dentist's drill, but all he could think was that it was
very important not to be sick.

   He was dimly aware of something banging; a metallic crash like an auto
accident, over and over, and more running feet.

   People yelling, above his head: he shivered at the exchange of hate. 
And then a big hand with skinned knuckles on his shoulder.

   "You all right, son?  God, I'm so sorry."

   Randy snuffled, suddenly aware he was drooling crimson onto the kitchen
floor.  He nodded, dumbly, and got his shaking legs under himself.  He
wasn't going to be sick, and he wasn't going to cry, either.  It hurt.  A
gut-deep numb hurt.

   "I'm sorry, son." His father was just a blurry shadow above him.

   Now Randy thought he might cry.  His father's voice sounded raw.  He
looked up, and saw his father flinch.  "Bad, huh?" Randy mumbled, tasting
blood and feeling how only half his mouth moved when he spoke.

   "Come on," his father said.  "Up."

   Randy wasn't sure he was ready, but his father lifted him, hand like an
iron claw beneath his armpit.  Randy staggered backward and half-fell into
a kitchen chair, blinking, feeling the tears run down his face.  His mouth
was still numb, but he could see better.  His father, blocking most of the
view and behind him, in the archway, Mom holding a skillet like a squash
racket, her face like the grim reaper.  Randy was glad none of that
expression was directed at him.

   "Chrss," Randy mumbled, looking round for his brother, but the boy
wasn't in the kitchen.  He realized why Mom was standing guard in the
archway like that and managed a swollen half-smile.  Relief swept through
him as he realized Chrissie was safe and he blinked, feeling more wetness
on his cheeks and not caring.

   "I want you out of this house, Matthew Pelaski," Mom said, her voice a
flat monotone.  "Right now.  Don't stop to pack."

   "Nwhh!" Randy mumbled, gripping his dad's sleeve, and staring at Mom,
shaking his head.  He spat, a shocking red stain.  "No," he said.  It
wasn't just the signature: he could see his whole family ripping apart. 
"Please!"

   Now Mom was glaring at him.  "I need you to back me on this, Randy!" she
said.

   "Pleasshe!" Randy swallowed, tasting iron.  It felt stupid to be sitting
here, his teeth hurting and blood drooling down his chin, pleading for a
second chance for the guy who'd hit him, but that was life: stupid
sometimes.

   Beside him, Randy heard the freezer door crackle open.  Thump closed
again.

   "Here," his father said, handing him a bag of frozen peas.  "Against
your face." He held Randy's gaze, but there was a flinch in his eyes, like
a dog waiting to be kicked.

   "'Nk you sir," Randy slurred.  The ice felt good against his jaw. 
"Would you sit?" he nodded at a chair, and groped the envelope out of his
inner pocket.  He put it on the table.  "Mom?  W'll y' read it?  Both've
you?" He pushed himself to his feet.  "'M gonna go see Chris.  Make sure
he'sh all right."

   The universe had a tendency to revolve, but he was all right, he
decided. He smiled at his mom.  "Don't kill anyone, huh?" he mumbled past
the bag of peas he still held against his face.  Randy saw his mom swallow,
her face collapsing like a drowning sandcastle.  Even in her last days,
dying by inches in a rest-home, he knew his mother would never look as old
as this.  He squeezed her shoulder as he passed by, suddenly unable to
contain his fear for Chris.

   The front door was closed.  Relieved, Randy stumbled up the stairs, but
at the top came face-to-face with a bloodstained crazy, clutching a bag of
peas to his face.  Laughing shakily, he stumbled into the bathroom and
splashed his face with cold water.  He dumped the peas in the sink and
headed for Chris's room, trying to comb his hair with his fingers as he
went.



   h3.* * *



   There was no sign of Chris: not in his bed; not under it; not in his
wardrobe.  His heart in his mouth, Randy turned back to the door.  Maybe
his little brother had run?  He felt hot and cold: _now_ he was angry.  If
anything happened to Chris "Chris," he called, trying to stop his voice
shaking.  Softly: no shouting.  The kid had heard enough shouting. 
"Chris," he called again as he stepped into the hall.  "It's me, Randy. 
Are you there, Chrissie?"

   A sound: from his own room.  Randy pushed the door open.  His closet
door wasn't quite closed.

   "Chrissie, it's Randy.  It's okay - it's me." He pulled open the closet
door.  A jumble of clothing on the floor, and a small, sneakered foot
showing.  "Are you okay, Chrissie?  Please talk to me, I'm scared!"

   As Randy knelt down, the mound of clothes moved.  A glimpse of brown
hair, and then two small arms wrapped around his neck and the boy was
pressing against him, trembling.  He was panting, his breath coming in
short jerks, and his grip was painfully tight, his fingers digging into
Randy's shoulders.

   "Hey there.  Hey there." Randy kissed his brother's cheek; regretted it
when he saw the smear of blood he left.  "Come on, honey," he slurred. 
"Come on.  It's okay now.  I've got you."

   Chris shuddered and began to sob, gasping unintelligibly into Randy's
neck.  Randy just knelt there, profoundly glad that his little brother was
okay.  He wasn't angry with anyone now, not even his father: the aching
gratitude just pressed everything else into insignificance.

   "'M sorry, Randy, 'm sorry!" the boy sobbed.  "I juh-just wanted to show
you the u-uuuh-uniform.  I didn't know it was buh-ah-aad!"

   "Uniform?" Randy murmured, mystified, stroking Chris's hair.

   "I di-uh-didn't want yuh to be sh-shamed, Randy, I duh-didn't!" Chris
sniffed wetly against Randy's neck, crying uncontrollably.  "I juh-just
wanted to shu-uh-show you!"

   "Shh now, Chrissie, shh." Randy patted his brother's back, holding him
tightly, feeling him gasp, struggling to breathe through the crying.  "You
just cry it out."

   Behind him, Randy heard the door squeak.  Chris stiffened in his arms,
clinging desperately as Randy looked around.  Mom stood with the door half
open.  Her expression became a little less defeated, and as Randy smiled at
her, he saw a faint echo of that smile warm her face.  She stepped back
into the corridor, pulling the door closed, and at that moment Randy truly
understood how much she loved Chris: she'd go downstairs, hurting and
alone, rather than interrupt the comfort her son needed.

   Randy sat down on the carpet and leaned against the wall, pulling Chris
down with him.  He didn't attempt to speak, he just stroked the boy's back
and his hair, interspersing it with kisses until Chris's sobs wound down
into aching silence.

   "So," Randy said, eventually.  "What was all this about?  You want to
talk about it?"

   Chris sniffed, and Randy felt him sigh, a huge gasp that racked his
small body.  "Sorry," he whispered, his wet face pressed against Randy's
neck.

   "It's okay," Randy murmured.  "But what are you sorry for?  Did you
break something?  Say something?  Do you want to tell me?" He rubbed
Chris's shoulders.  "You don't have to, but I think you'll feel better,
don't you?" He felt Chris's breathing catch; a sob that he suppressed.  He
felt Chris turn his head, his hair rasping on Randy's neck.

   "For being a faggot," Chris whispered, his breath wet-warm against
Randy's skin.

   "Oh, Chris." The guilt swelled and ached inside Randy until he thought
he must be sick.  "I'm sorry.  I shouldn't have done it." He would have
said more, but his throat closed up.  He would _not_ cry, he told himself.
He'd been selfish enough.

   "You?" Surprise sounded clear in Chris's high, boy's voice.  "No, it's
me!  I wore the uniform!"

   Randy coughed a laugh that only just missed being a sob.  "Uniforms
again.  Chrissie - what the hell?  Tell me!" Perversely he wanted to smile,
and felt his lip leak wetness again.

   Chris sniffed, and gulped, and then the words came out in a rush: "Mom
washed the Little Peaches uniform, ready for me to give it back.  But dad,
he saw it and said it was faggot gear!" Chrissie wailed.  "And I was a
little faggot, and had I been doing stuff in the showers, only we haven't
got any showers, but he just shouted and he said he was ashamed of me,
and," Chris sobbed, his face wet, "I, I don't want you to be ashamed of me
Randy because faggots are nasty, bad people!" He leaned again against
Randy's wet shirt, crying against his neck.  "I only wanted to be pretty
and show you about the team!"

   "Oh.  D'you know why they're bad, Chrissie?"

   "No!" Chris sobbed.  "They're just bad, is all - they do bad things!" He
held Randy tight, crying into his shoulder.  "I didn't know wearing pretty
things was bad!"

   Randy patted his brother's back.  He'd no idea little Chrissie was so
confused; there were obviously some talks that were way overdue.

   "Listen, Chrissie," Randy said.  "Dad just made a mistake.  I don't care
whether you're a faggot or not; I know you're nice, and not a bad person.
You're my only little brother, and I love you, got that?"

   "Uhuh." He felt Chris nod.  The boy was gripping Randy's shirt, the
material bunched tight in his little fists, holding on.

   "So don't worry about it.  We can talk about it all later, you and me."
Randy ruffled his brother's hair, and made his voice matter-of-fact. 
"Actually, when I came home today, I was going to ask you to help me."

   _Sniff._ "Me?" Chris looked up at him, his eyes huge in his blotchy
face.

   "Yes.  Help me so I could keep going to university, and not be a
quitter." He stroked Chris's cheek with the back of one finger.  "See?  I
don't want you to be ashamed of me, either."

   "'M sorry, Randy." Chris dropped his gaze.  He swallowed.  "It was a
mean thing to say."

   "No, I think it helped.  It made me do a lot of thinking, that's for
sure.  Well, anyway - I thought of a way, but I need you to help.  It'll
mean more school for you, I'm afraid."

   Chris looked up again, his eyes red, wrinkling his nose.  "Those sucky
clubs, huh?"

   "No, not the clubs.  Actually, you'd be coming to university, with me."
Randy tried not to smile at the boy's dumbfounded expression.  "Oh, not to
study: just to sit along with me because you can't stay home alone.  You
see, I've got most of my classes in the morning, or after lunch.  But there
are late afternoon lectures, Tuesday and Thursday, at four o'clock.  If you
agree to be good, and sit quiet as a mouse in those lectures, then I can
look after you every afternoon, and Mom can take that new job."
Chris's eyes were round.  "Every afternoon!  You'll play with me every

afternoon, Randy?"

   "Well, I'll have to study some, too, but sure.  Every day, after school.
Whoa!" He laughed, knocked back against the wall again as Chris jumped on
him, wrapping his arms around his neck.

   "Oh Randy!  Yes!  I'll do it, yes!" He kissed Randy and then drew back.
"Your face!  What is it, Randy?  Are you okay?"

   "Sure, I'm fine," Randy said.  "You're just kind of a rough kisser right
now."

   "It was Dad, wasn't it?  He bashed you!" Chris went red, pulling away
from Randy.  "He's so mean!"

   Randy held on tight, stopping Chris from escaping.  "It was a mistake,
and he's real sorry."

   "I hate him!" Chris shouted, his small body vibrating with anger.  "He
bashed you and he's mean and I hate him!"

   "Hey now.  That's enough shouting," Randy said.  He could feel his face
was stiff, swelling again as he tried for a smile.  "I'm not going to have
to worry about you two fighting, am I?" He pushed Chris's hair back from
his face.

   His little brother glared at him.  "Don't laugh at me!" His face shone
glossy scarlet and he sounded like he could barely squeeze the words out
past his fury.  "You think it's funny, me thinking of hitting a grown-up!"

   "Chrissie, please don't," Randy said.  "I'm not laughing at you; I felt
exactly the same when I came up here looking for you.  If anyone hurt you,
I'd -" Randy broke off: the awful, choking hurt that thought provoked made
it impossible to speak.  He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, angry
with himself.  "I'd do something stupid!  I wouldn't care!  I'd -"

   Chris hugged him fiercely.  "Yes!  Me too!"

   Randy dried his eyes on his brother's shoulder.  "But," he said, "I'd
rather have you here, hugging me, than in prison, or dead, or hurt.  You
see?" He thumped Chris's shoulders.  "You see?"

   "Yes, Randy." Chris's voice was muffled.  "I won't; I promise."

   "Good." Randy hugged the boy tight, then wearily pushed himself to his
feet.  "Come on.  Let's go freshen up, then we'll go talk to the
grown-ups."





   h3.* * *



   The house was mercifully quiet when Randy had returned from his shift at
the store.  He'd expected to have to tiptoe past the couch, but his father
had waited up for him, or just not run out of beer, or something.  He'd
apologized again for hitting Randy; painfully, drunkenly, and at length,
and Randy had accepted a beer as a demonstration of truce.

   Now his father sat hunched on the couch, staring sightlessly at the
blankets and pillow piled on the coffee table in front of him.  His big
hands cradled his ninth or maybe tenth beer since Randy got home.  The room
was three-fourths dark, lit only by the flickering TV light.  Chrissie and
Mom were safe elsewhere, and he wondered if they were asleep or not.

   Randy raised the gold beer-can to his lips and faked a sip.  It was
awful, sitting here like this.  At least his father seemed finally to have
stopped apologizing.  The TV babbled game commentary in the silence,
ignored by both of them.

   "It was at the site, this morning," his father said eventually, his
voice dull.  "We got this fruit working there, you get them everywhere
these days; gotta hire 'em.  Seems they got rights now.  'Course the guys
haze him: putting crap in his locker, stuff in his coffee." He shrugged. 
"It happens, we all gotta take it.  Be a man, you know?" He turned his face
to Randy, but his eyes were blank, unseeing.

   His father sighed, looked down at the beer can he was holding.  "Well,
today some bright spark got this fruit's clothes while he was showering - I
mean, trust me, when he showered, he showered with but _nobody,_ right?"
Again the blank, unseeing grin.  "And the guys, they hoisted them up in the
grab-crane: his clothes, I mean.  Well, fruity Louie comes out and he
starts shrieking like a girl, and the guys won't lower his clothes down,
and he gets mad.  He climbs the scaffolding buck-naked, and he _jumps_ for
the bucket like he's fuckin' Superman or somethin'.  Misses by a fuckin'
mile of course and lands - bang!  - on a wheelbarrow and bricks and shit,
just as I come on site.  He's in intensive right now.  Don't know if he'll
live; dead certain he won't walk again." His big fist closed, crumpling the
thin aluminum.  Beer slopped over his hand.
"All because he's a fruit.  So when I came home today, saw that lousy
faggoty-colored baseball uniform, all of a sudden it was _my_ kid lying
like a smashed-up bunch of sticks in that yard, bleeding and screaming." He
dropped the can and buried his face in both hands, ignoring it as it

glugged a widening stain in the carpet.

   "But-" Randy began.

   His father looked over at him, and Randy was shocked to see the man's
cheeks gleaming wet in the cold TV light.  "You know he's a fruit," his
father said.  "God knows I never meant to be so harsh, but we both know,
and we gotta make the best of it.  I tried, all this summer while you were
gone I tried to get him to act tough and be a man, and he fuckin' hated me
for it.  All that tryin' to get him to play sport, and it might as well
have been fuckin' disco-dancing."

   His father sighed, nudging the fallen beer can with his foot.  "I know
it ain't been easy for you, Randy.  I mean, looking after him and then
having him always around kind of screwed your luck with girlfriends.  And
now, new studies: new faces," he shrugged.  "I thought at last maybe you
might meet some girls - but you're stuck with him again.  I'm sorry."

   "It's okay," Randy said, tasting his cowardice on his tongue.  "I'm fine
with having Chris around."

   "You're a good kid," his father said, gruffly.  "I know you don't hold
it against him.  I guess, later on, we're both gonna end up being polite to
his boyfriends and trying to keep 'em away from the grandkids, right?" He
smiled ruefully, man to man.

   "Right." Randy nodded, ashamed of himself.  He stood up.  "Well, I've
got to get to bed if I'm going to get to any classes tomorrow.  Thanks for
signing, Dad." He felt awful, but he made himself walk over and offer his
hand.  His father shook it, his hand rough and warm, his grip strong, yet
careful.  Randy felt like a traitor.

   He climbed the stairs, feeling frightened and stupid and cowardly.

   He looked in on Chrissie, and found Mom asleep in his bed next to his
little brother.  As he stood in the doorway Chris rolled over in bed next
to her and looked back at him with haunted, frightened eyes.  Randy went in
and crouched by the bed.

   "Not sleepy, little dude?" Even in the dim light, the boy looked
exhausted.

   "Don't want to sleep," Chris whispered.  "Randy, can I come in with
you?"

   Randy hesitated.  It was dangerous and stupid, given that dad was
already on to Chrissie.

   "I'm sorry," Chris whispered, blinking trickles of tears.  "I shouldn't
have said." He looked wretched.

   "It's okay." Randy pushed back the coverlet, and was relieved to see his
little brother was wearing his Ninja Turtle PJs.  "Come along.  But just to
sleep, okay?  No couch baseball."

   One betrayal was enough for the evening, he decided.





   h3.* * *





   Randy dreamed.  He was underwater, drowned deep in the darkness.  The
weight pressed on his lungs and fish nibbled at him.  Seaweed tickled his
face.  He opened his sticky eyes and it was Chris, lying on top of him,
breathing his sweet breath into Randy's face.

   "You got to get up now, Mom says," Chris told him.

   It was full light, and the bedside alarm said he was way late.

   "'S okay," Chris said, seeing him look.  "Dad's taken the letter to your
teachers, and Mom's phoned the school, saying I'm sick or something.  She's
real happy - they offered her that job, you know."

   He smiled happily and wriggled on top of Randy.  "It is really true,
isn't it?  You're going to look after me after school every day?"

   "Really true," Randy agreed.

   Chris got a serious look on his face.  Not as though he was upset, just
thinking about something else.

   Randy raised his eyebrows.  "What?"

   "Oh, just seeing if you were big this morning." He rolled half off Randy
and pushed the covers aside.  "Thought so," he announced.  "In the
morning's when it happens to me, too."

   "Uh, Chris-" Randy wasn't looking forward to having "that talk" with the
boy.

   "It's okay," Chris said.  "I remember." He wriggled down the bed and
slipped his hand into the fly of Randy's boxers.

   "No, I meant-"

   "You don't want me to?" Chris looked up, his hand curled firmly around
Randy's morning erection.  "Because of what Dad said?"

   "Well-"

   "But you said he was wrong!" Chris was starting to look hurt and upset.
"Don't you like me now?  I'm no good?"

   "No, you are good, Chrissie.  It's just - there's stuff I need to tell
you."

   "Oh.  Like sperms, you mean." Chris shrugged.  "You can tell me after,
it's okay.  I've already done it before, anyway, remember."

   Randy smiled.  "Remember?  I don't think I'll ever forget!"

   Chris giggled.  "Yeah.  You made a whole lot of stuff!" He squeezed
Randy's cock.

   "Randy," Chris said, "would you sit up, so I can be on the floor?"

   "Sure," Randy said.  "But you can just lie here with me on the bed if
you like, it'll work that way too."

   "No." Chris shook his head.  "It's better if I'm on the floor.  It makes
it more - I dunno.  More of you being my big brother." He flushed.  "I know
it sounds silly."

   "Like when I was telling you the story?  Lying on top of you, at the
end?" Randy said, "Like that?"

   "Uh-huh." Chris nodded his head, blushing.

   "Well, get down on the floor then," Randy said.  He waited while Chris
scrambled eagerly off him, and then swung his legs out of bed and stood up.

   "Come on then," he said.  "Suck my cock, Chrissie." He encouraged the
boy to get up on his knees, and then bumped the big head of his cock
against those lovely red lips.

   At once Chris opened his mouth.  Randy stroked the back of his brother's
head and guided it down onto his hard cock.  "That's it, Chris.  Suck it,"
he said.  "I know you like it."

   Chris slurped and licked at his cock, his mouth warm.  Randy stroked his
shoulders and his head, urging the boy to take more cock into his mouth.

   "Uhh, that's good, Chrissie!  Oh, you're good!" Randy groaned as he felt
his little brother's firm tongue massaging him.  "You remembered
everything. Deeper, you can do it!"

   Slowly he began fucking the boy's mouth, holding Chris's head still, and
moving his hips.  "That's it - ohh, yes.  Is that good for you?  Moan if
you like it, huh?  Like before?"

   "Mmmmm!" Chris mumbled, sucking at Randy's big hard cock.

   "God!" Randy thought.  It looked so intense: seeing his fat, veiny
hardness sliding in and out of his brother's thin, freckled little face. 
Feeling the boy obediently sucking him; pushing his cock in right as far as
Chris could bear.  He was so stupid thinking he could give up this warm,
wet ecstasy.  He groaned at the slippery, teasing sensations of the boy's
mouth and writhing tongue and felt Chris groan in answer.  His brother's
little pixie face looked so much cuter with hard man-meat forcing his jaws
wide, and as Randy fucked a little deeper his coughs and splutters were so
sexy.

   "Yeah, that's it, Chrissie," Randy said, thrusting strongly now. 
"You'll taste my cum in a minute.  I'm going to cum in your mouth, and
you're going to swallow it, because you like doing that, don't you?  Huh?"

   "Mmmh!" Chris grunted.  He'd stopped sucking so much and just knelt
passively, letting Randy fuck his little mouth.  Drool ran down over his
chin as his big brother's cock pistoned in and out past his red, stretched
lips.

   "Yeah, that's nice - ohhh!  Your mouth is so nice, Chrissie!" Randy
gasped, thrusting faster, deeper.  "Ohh!  I'm gonna cum -"

   Randy groaned, feeling his muscles tense as came hard, spurting into the
boy's mouth.  Chris spluttered, and Randy groaned again as he pumped more
thick cum into that hot wetness.

   "Mmmm!" Chris moaned.  "Mmmm!" as he sucked and slurped, licking every
gobbet of white off his brother's cock.

   "Oh, yes!" Randy murmured, running his fingers through his brother's
heavy hair.  "You're a quick learner, Chrissie.  You're a real good
student."


   h3.End of part 2.